Crazy Can Be Beautiful
by 3ffingawesome
Summary: **2016 Profiler's Choice Award Winner- Best M-Rated; Runner-up Best Over-all Fic and Best Characterization of Spencer Reid** Seven years after their last meeting, Spencer Reid runs into an old college friend, setting in motion a series of events that turn out not to be the disaster he first anticipates.
1. Chapter 1

It was only Wednesday, and it had already been a rough week at work. A serial child abductor had been caught, but too late to save his latest victim. It was small comfort that his victims' families would have justice. It was also the one year anniversary of their apprehension of another unsub the media had dubbed "The Blue Ridge Strangler". That case didn't end well, either. He felt restless, almost like he couldn't breathe. So he didn't go directly home, but rather opted to get off the Metro by Farragut Park and walk up Connecticut toward DuPont Circle. The White House looked stunning when lit up at night, and he hoped the walk would help him unwind and clear his mind.

"Oh my god, man! That is you? Spencer! Hold up!"

He turned and saw a man waving at him from across the street. He stopped dead in his tracks as though he'd seen a ghost. The man was wearing a Hawaiian shirt- rumpled, of course. He was a little older, a little heavier and his hair a little thinner, but there was no mistaking him as he dodged traffic crossing the street. "Hey, Joe," he called, returning the wave and smiling, his mood lifting at the sight of his old friend.

Joe finally reached his side of the street and, ignoring Spencer's proffered hand, grabbed him with a tight bear hug. "Damn, aren't you a sight for sore eyes! Nice man-purse, by the way," he teased, tugging at the strap across his chest. "So, hey, what are you doing here? You live here now?"

"Yes. Well, north of here, anyway. And you?"

"Oh, just in town on business."

"Really? What business?"

"Ah… I'm in marketing, I guess you could say. Personnel management, that sort of thing. What's your deal now? You doing research around here or something?"

"No, actually, I-"

"Don't tell me you're teaching now! What, at like Georgetown or something? Because I cannot picture you giving a lecture every day. I mean, I can picture you lecturing me every day. I've seen you do that. But, like, to a hall full of strangers? No way. Man, you really have come out of your shell, haven't you? Good for you, Spinster!"

He still hated that nickname, but smiled in spite of it. "No, Joe, I'm not a professor. I work down at Quantico, for the FBI. I-"

"You teach for the FBI? Like, what? How to talk people to death? Now that, I can see."

"No, I don't teach. I'm an agent."

Joe laughed. Loudly. "Yeah, right." He had to pause to catch his breath, then said, "but seriously, what do you do?"

"I'm an agent. For the FBI. Seriously. Wait," he reached into his messenger bag and drew out a card, which he handed to Joe. "See?"

"Ooh, fancy. Supervisory Special Agent," he read. "Behavioral Analysis Unit...the fuck is that?"

"It's part of the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, or NCAVC, that together with ViCAP, the violent crime analysis pro-" he caught Joe giving him a dubious look. "I'll put it in little tiny words so that you can understand. We catch bad guys. Really bad guys."

"Fuck you, man," he laughed again. "Hey," he said with a touch of seriousness. "How's your mom doing these days? She here in town with you?"

Spencer winced a bit at the question. But he understood his old college friend only asked out of genuine concern. "No, she's still in Vegas. She's in a facility. She seems to be doing well there."

"Hey man, look at me." Spencer met his gaze and Joe continued, "don't do that. Don't beat yourself up. You're doing the best you can by her."

He fiddled with the strap on his bag. "Yeah. I know, I guess. Say, how's your sister?"

Joe smirked. "Which one? Patsy or Cori?" He laughed at the look of irritation on Spencer's face. "Oh! Wait- you mean Chris? Her? Yeah," he laughed again. "She's fine. Batshit crazy still, but fine. Seven years now, and still in remission. So thank God for that."

"That's great to hear."

"Yeah, I think so. Hey, so tell me- you seeing anyone these days?"

"What- you mean, socially? No…no. I'm just, you know…really busy. I, uh, really haven't…had the time for that…" He cleared his throat and shifted a little uncomfortably.

"Oh sure. Right. You're too busy. _That's_ the reason. Anyway, look. I know a girl here in DC- lemme set you up."

"No, that's really not necessary, Joe, I-"

"Bullshit. You're going to meet her, and I promise you're going to like her. She's cute, she's smart, she's perfect for you. What are you doing this Friday?"

"This Friday?" Spencer felt himself starting to panic inwardly. This could not end well. "Joe, you know, my work schedule is so…wait. What are you doing? Hey, stop!" Joe had his cell phone out and was dialing. "Come on, man, don't…just…come on! Put it away!"

Joe smiled. "Yeah, hey," he said into his phone. "It's me…hey- what are you up to Friday night? Yes, this Friday…okay, besides that…well, it's your lucky day! I just found you a date…No…No! He's a great guy! Smart, gainfully employed, perfectly respectable…He is not! He's actually the tall, dark and handsome type…Yes…Yes…No. You are doing this. Seriously. You want to meet this guy. Trust me!...Okay, when have I ever steered you wrong, hmm?" Joe sighed and made a face. "Okay, besides that…and that…and…Jesus-fucking-Christ! I get it! But I'm not wrong this time! Look, I'll make you a deal. If you don't like him, you can kick me in the nuts. And if he acts like an asshole on your date, you can kick him in the nuts, too." Spencer gave Joe a look of alarm, but Joe just held up his hand. "Okay. Deal. I'll make the reservation, and all the two of you have to do is show up…Fine…Okay, fine…Bye." Joe clicked off his phone and smiled broadly.

"You promised to let her kick me in the testicles? Are you out of your mind? You know I have no social skills around women!"

"Oh, hype down. I only told her she got to hurt you if you behave like an asshole. But you're not an asshole. A dork, maybe, and kinda clueless, but not an asshole. Act like a gentleman, treat her like a lady, and you'll be fine. I promise."

Spencer sighed and said miserably, "Fantastic. Looks like I have a date. Hooray."

"Looks like it! Hey, trust me! You'll have a good time. Promise. I've gotta get back to my hotel and find a place for you two to meet. I've got your cell here, so I'll call with the details, okay?"

"Yeah. Great. Have a good night."

"Thanks man. You, too! And do me a favor. Try not to look like that when you meet her, okay?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're silently praying for the earth to open beneath your feet and swallow you. Gotta run!"

Spencer watched him leave and decided to skip the walk, opting instead to take a cab home. Later that night, his phone rang. He didn't recognize the number, but assumed it was Joe. He reasoned if he didn't answer he could give the excuse he never got the call or heard the voicemail and thus presumed the plans were off. As he lay in bed he felt a dull ache in his chest. He'd asked about Christine, but Joe just changed the subject and had set him up with a stranger. He'd thought about her often over the years. Now he was all but certain- she'd grown up and grown healthy, gone out in the world and was busy being happy. But not with him. He secretly hated the man she might be with now; he couldn't imagine another appreciating her brilliance, her liveliness, her impish mischievousness or her kindness in the way she deserved. In a way he wished he'd had the courage years ago to show her that he did, when they were still just college friends. He groaned and turned onto his side, feeling stupid and trapped into going on a date he really didn't want.

"Hey, lover boy, long night last night?"

He jumped at the sound of Morgan's voice behind him, nearly spilling coffee on himself. "You should be more careful, sneaking up on people like that," he muttered. "And what makes you say that, anyway?"

"Well, you look like you haven't slept, and I can tell you're daydreaming because you're staring at that report without turning the pages. Don't need a PhD in math to see that adds up to a long night of playing kissy face." Morgan grinned at him like a Cheshire Cat.

"Well, maybe you'd better brush up on your math," he replied. "It's nothing like that."

Morgan was relentless. He leaned casually against his desk, still grinning. "Then enlighten me, Pretty Boy. Something has you all distracted."

He sighed and looked up. "I just ran into an old college friend last night, quite unexpectedly."

"What's her name? Is she pretty?"

" _His_ name is Joe, and he most certainly is not."

"Wow, I did not see that coming, especially the way your head turns every time a pretty girl walks past."

"What? No. You think I'm…? No," he said. "It's definitely not that. Joe is just a friend. It was just...so strange to run into him after so long. It brought back a lot of memories. You know, he-"

"Sorry to break it up, boys," JJ interrupted, handing them each a file. "Hotch wants us in the conference room. Now."

Saved by a case, he thought, relieved. He pulled out his cellphone.

"Reid, you comin'?" Morgan asked.

"Be right there. I have a voicemail I've got to check." He watched him leave and listened to the message.

"Hey man, it's me. So I've got you reservations for 8:00 at Obelisk under the name Arcangeli. Give me a call if you need directions. You'd better not wuss out on me, now. Oh, and maybe get her some flowers. Chicks love flowers. Good luck!"

He hung up and was starting up the stairs just as Hotch stepped out of the room to look for him. "Sorry! I'm here," he said, walking into the room

"Good. Let's get started."

The case was a brief one, and not too far away. A student who'd been recently expelled from Chapel Hill was caught after a series of break-ins at the female dorms that targeted Asian exchange students and had escalated to one student's rape. Luckily, in light of recent attacks at UVa and Virginia Tech, campus and local police had recognized early on they were in over their heads and had requested their assistance before any further harm could be done. Thus, Friday found them back at Quantico. After two nearly sleepless nights, Hotch told them all to go home upon their return in the early afternoon.

So now he really had no excuse not to go on this date. His first real date. And a blind date, to boot. Once he was on the Metro headed home, he closed his eyes and groaned inwardly at this thought, feeling a little queasy.

 _Hey, do me a favor, Spencer. For once, just this once, instead of imagining everything that could possibly go wrong, try imagine all that could go right._

He heard her voice so clearly in his mind that for a brief moment he thought she was right there, and his eyes flew open, expecting to see her smiling right in front of him. He looked about. No, of course she wasn't there. He heard the speakers announcing his stop.

Once at home he resolved to try and give this a chance. After showering, shaving and brushing his teeth, he tried to decide what to wear. He briefly considered calling Joe for advice but decided against it, thinking, _I'm a grown man- I should at least be able to dress myself by now._ He settled on a jacket, tie, and trousers, second guessed the tie, chose another tie, decided against that, and was trying to decide between his third and fourth choices when he suddenly thought, What about my socks? Should I wear matching ones? It was a silly childhood superstition of his to wear mismatched ones, but it had been his habit for so long...he caught sight of the time. 7:18. He had to get out the door immediately if he hoped to pick up flowers and still arrive by 8:00. He threw on the tie in his right hand and hurried out the door after pulling on his socks.

They didn't match.

The cab dropped him off at the florist and he wandered in. He was relieved to see the sales girl was busy with other customers; he wasn't eager to answer any questions regarding for whom he was buying the flowers or why. His first thought was to buy roses, but the cost of them was gallingly high. Some calla lilies caught his eye. They looked simple and tasteful. But they were more expensive than the roses. He decided to base his search on a price he was willing to pay rather than the aesthetics of the flower. It seemed rather illogical to spend so much money on something that would wilt and wind up in the trash quickly, anyway, particularly after what he'd read he could expect to spend on dinner. Finally, he found a sign that said "$15/doz" sticking out of a bucket of tulips. They seemed pretty enough, and the price was right. He didn't want to seem too forward, so he selected a bunch of white ones, the most neutral and platonic color he could think of, and went to pay for them. The young lady behind the counter smiled cheerfully and remarked how sweet they looked. It calmed his nerves a bit to hear it. She wrapped them and tied them with a bow. As he left the store he checked his watch. 7:54. The restaurant was approximately an 8 minute walk. He hated tardiness in others and even more so in himself and hoped that, at least tonight, this was one thing he and his date did not have in common.

"Good evening, sir. Your reservation?"

He tried to slow his breathing from the very brisk walk he'd just taken. "Arcangeli," he answered, wincing as heard his own voice crack.

The hostess smiled broadly and chuckled. "Oh, so you're the lucky guy tonight! Please, follow me sir." As they passed a few other members of the wait staff he heard her quietly sing to them, "He's heeeere!" Spencer could feel them watching behind him and wondered what on earth Joe had set him up for.

Then he heard it. That laugh. Bright, clear and inappropriately loud. It had been seven years since he'd heard that laugh. As they went around a corner, he saw her standing with her back to him, her arm around a member of the waitstaff, posing as another took their picture. Her hair had grown back- longer, brighter, redder and curlier than ever. But it was her.

"Hurry up, now! Take this pic! And after that, I'm gonna bounce. No, I mean it, guys! Seriously, this dude's gotta be a real dickasaurus rex not to have the decent common courtesy to show up on time! But at least I get to kick my brother in his mangina as payback for buying me a ticket on this train wreck of an evening!"

Spencer laid the tulips down on a chair and said, "My apologies, Christine. Surely you can forgive an old friend?"

She jumped at his voice and spun around, her hand over her open mouth. The wait staff around her all laughed and hurried off to their stations. "No way! Oh my god, you heard that! Spencer! Look at you!" She threw her arms around him, giggling. "He never told me it was you...! Sit, sit!" She gestured to his seat.

He almost sat, then remembered his manners and held out the chair for her. "Still thinking of leaving?"

She shook her head with a laugh and sat. "I just can't believe..." Her voice trailed off, and she feigned indignation. "Well, if you knew it was me, then why did you show up late? You know that pisses me off!"

"I didn't know it was you I was meeting. It seems Joe kept us both in the dark." He nearly sat on the flowers and stopped. "I, um, got these for you. They're not much..." He suddenly wished he'd sprung for the roses.

She took them and looked at them quietly for a moment. He couldn't see her face well enough to read her expression. "They're um, they're..." her voice was strangely soft now. "They're absolutely beautiful. You know...no gentleman has ever given me flowers before. Thank you, Spencer, for being the one who gave them to me..." She then stood up and snapped off one of the blossoms. She stepped over to him and slipped it into the button hole on his lapel. "There. Now you've got one, too." When she sat down again, she gave him her familiar impish smile. "But Joe told me I'd be meeting an FBI agent tonight. So it seems that was another joke he's played. What are you doing in DC these days, anyway?"

"Now, why is it so hard for you to believe I'm an agent? Look," he fished in his pocket. "My credentials."

"I'll be damned..."

"Why should you be surprised? It was your idea, after all."

"Mine? Really." She raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you remember the question you asked me that night at your birthday party?"

She sat back and grinned. "I asked you what you wanted to be as a child. The first thing you ever wanted to be when you grew up. And you said," she smiled a little broader, "you said when you were really little, you wanted to be Superman when you grew up."

"And you told me, 'I can totally see that.' I thought you were teasing me. But you said, 'No. You can do it- fight for truth, justice and the American way.'" He smiled back at her. "I remember thinking, 'This girl is crazy,' because when you said that, you were completely serious. You honestly believed that."

"I did."

"A few years ago, when I was finishing my last degree and trying to figure out what my next step was going to be, some agents came to recruit on campus. And as soon as I saw them, I remembered that conversation and decided to give it a go. So now- this is what I am. Supervisory Special Agent Reid."

"Well, I am...astounded. So what, they let you shoot people and kill men with your bare hands?"

"As to the former, I'm still working on my certification. And as to the latter, no. We leave that to the CIA." They both laughed. It felt so good to be able to speak freely with his friend again, with someone whom he knew understood both his strengths as well as his weaknesses and accepted him just as he was. "You look lovely, by the way."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks," she said. She never was good at accepting compliments. "You clean up pretty well, yourself. So tell me, Spencer, have you been busy breaking the hearts of all the pretty senators' daughters?"

"You do remember this is me you're talking to, right? No. I haven't seen anyone. Actually, the only people I've really even made friends with are my coworkers. I…well, you know me. I still haven't figured out how to talk to women."

A server came to tell them about the menu and take their drink order. After he had left, she said, "You don't seem to be having any trouble talking to me."

"You're different. You know me. And you never make me feel like I'm weird. I always liked talking to you."

Their waiter returned with their wine. After he'd left, she said, "Aw, look at you, Spencer! Drinking wine just like a big boy now! You know, you really should have let me get you that fake ID that time. We could have gotten into some real trouble, then!"

"That's exactly why I wouldn't let you! God knows what kind of ridiculousness would have transpired with you egging me on. Besides, I was sixteen then!"

"And your point is…? Dude, you still look like you're sixteen!"

"Gee, thanks. But enough about me. Have you seen anyone romantically since last we met?"

She laughed too loudly, and then remembering where she was, clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her giggles. "No," she said finally. "Well, not many anyway. The problem with me is I don't have a whole lot of patience in dealing with morons. And most guys I meet have IQs barely above room temperature. The last guy I went out with, after dinner we went back to his place. To play Scrabble. Yeah. That's right. Scrabble. Because that's how nerds like us roll. So anyway," she continued, shaking her head as he laughed, "he started getting all pissy because I happen have a better vocabulary than him and…well, the night ended with him turning over coffee table we were playing on and me taking a whiffle ball bat to some ridiculous model of the Starship Enterprise he'd built." She sipped her wine. "I can't imagine why he never called me again."

"I'll try to remember never to make you mad."

"Nah, I think you're safe. I don't think Momma Reid raised her no jackass."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"No problem. Anyway, when you look like this, you'd better have a helluva lot a charm to get a date, because God knows I don't have much else to offer. And me…well, I lack both the ability and the inclination to keep my opinions to myself."

"'Look like this'? What do you mean? You're beautiful!"

"Dude, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a short, freckled ginger. However, I guess I do have one thing going for me- since I saw you last I did grow some pretty sweet tits. So there's that…" She laughed at his reaction. "Oh, pick your jaw up off your lap, boy! And don't you dare tell me you didn't notice, because you've hardly been able to keep your eyes off them since you got here."

"No! What? No…I didn't-"

Just then their waiter stopped by their table.

"Reprieve!" she whispered with a smirk.

He felt himself flushing deep red as he waited for their waiter to leave. When he was gone, Spencer leaned forward and said, "You're terrible."

"Oh, don't pretend to be all prissy and prudish with me. Frankly, I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't noticed. You're a guy, and all guys fall into one of two categories: either they like tits, or they like ass. Lucky for me, you appear to be the former. So congratulations, Spencer. You are a perfectly normal, healthy, heterosexual man!"

"You're terrible," he reiterated, at a loss for other words.

"True. But at least I have a sweet rack," she said, taking a bite.

He cleared his throat. "So, tell me, what do you specialize in? Where do you practice?"

She stopped with her glass raised and stared at him. "Wait. Joe didn't tell you?"

"No. All he said was that was that I'd be meeting someone cute and smart. Nothing else."

"Well," she said, setting her glass down. "I'm not a doctor."

"Oh. Didn't you finish med school?"

"No no. I finished. I just decided not to practice."

"Oh. So…you teach? Write?"

"Not exactly. Did Joe tell you what he does?"

"He said he was in marketing and personnel management."

She chuckled. "Yeah. That sounds about right. See, Joe likes to think he's my boss, but in reality, he works for me. You know what Joe did after graduation, right?"

"Yes. Well, he said he was moving to New York, anyway. I thought Patsy got him a job there."

"She did. But he found civil engineering mind-numbingly boring. So he started doing stand-up."

"Stand-up…what?"

"Comedy. You know. Where you hang out in a bar with a microphone telling jokes to drunk strangers in the hope that they'll like you."

"You're kidding."

"No. Strangely enough, comedy is one thing I don't kid about. Anyway, he made a bit of a name for himself and some money, too- enough so that he was able to quit his day job. And when I visited him, damn if it didn't seem like he was living the dream. So I tried my own hand at it. I even entered Georgetown's 'Funniest Person on Campus' contest and won. As a prize, I got $50 and the chance to perform at the DC Improv. And they were so impressed by my talent they offered me a permanent stint."

"Really?"

"Yep. Bussing tables. Eventually I worked all the way up to bartender. I was just that good."

"And so you're a…bartender?" he asked incredulously.

"Hey, you say that like it's a bad thing! It's actually quite glamorous, what with getting stiffed on tips, mopping up vomit, having the occasional drink thrown at me and all. My favorite, though, was when guys would piss all over the entire bathroom except in the urinal and I got to clean it up. Yep. Those were the days. Sadly, however, after graduation I had to leave that job."

"Okay. Great story. But what do you actually do now?"

"Well, I moved to New York and worked for a while as Joe's opening act. Then he became my opening act. Now he's my manager, my webmaster, sells t-shirts and stuff with my jokes on them...basically, he's the ringmaster of the circus that is me."

"So you're a comedian."

"I try to be, anyway. Yep."

"Well I…I really don't know what to say…"

"Oh, go ahead. You can say whatever you please. I suspect part of you wants to say exactly what my brother Wes said."

"Oh no. What was that?" Christine was the youngest of the five Arcangeli siblings. Wesley was the eldest, 13 years her senior, and he knew the two of them had always had a strained relationship.

"The day I told my family I would not be taking the last of my boards because I'd decided to pursue a career in comedy, my mother cried, my father sat silently with steam coming out of his ears, and Wesley declared that I was pissing away my education in order to become a professional fuck up."

"Wow. That was brutal."

"He also informed me that I was bringing shame to the family name and that I was the greatest disappointment of our father's life." Her voice had started to shake a bit. "That…that was the one that hurt right there." She sat for a moment, pondering her plate, then continued, "Yeah, so, Wes and I don't exactly speak to one another anymore." She pulled a wry smile.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment, because the truth was, Spencer had also been thinking what a shame it was for her to toss aside so many years of higher education for something as trivial as comedy. Finally he asked, "Do you enjoy what you do?"

"Enjoy it?" She brightened up again. "Are you crazy? I love it! I travel, I make way more money now than I would as a resident, I only work a few hours a day and my job literally consists of me laughing for a living. What's not to love?"

He raised an eyebrow. "It pays that well?"

"Now it does. For a few years there I was, for all intents and purposes, homeless. I lived out of my car and shitty motel rooms and couch surfed with friends. But I've caught some really lucky breaks. I just have to stay on my game now and not let my act go to hell. But when you think about it, our career paths aren't really all that different, you know."

"Ah, you mean yours and mine? I'd say they're just about as different as they can be!"

"No man, think about it. You should have wound up in academia or research. I should have been writing scripts for Tylenol. The skinny, clumsy kid found a way to be a superhero, and the shy, stuttering lisper found a way to get people to give a damn about what she has to say. We both found a way to make our dreams come true."

He smiled and lifted his glass. "You're right. To making dreams come true."

She lifted her glass to his. "Damn straight."

They laughed and caught up for hours. He tried to tell her about some of the cases he'd worked on, but these mainly elicited looks of horror and disgust from her. She regaled him with stories of the worst gigs she'd played, the most withering heckles she'd received, and of times that were so desperate that the money she was paid for performing for a night hardly covered the cost of gas and tolls it took to get ther there and back. As they got up to leave, the staff approached her for one more group photo, which Spencer took for them. As he handed the camera back to its owner, he was told they wanted one of just Christine and him. "Go on, put your arm around her!" He obliged with an arm around her shoulder, and felt her put hers around his waist. He hoped they wouldn't see him blushing in the picture. "Thanks! Have a fun rest of the night, you two!" They both smiled and waved as they left.

"So they know you, then?" he asked as they left.

"Yeah. One of the girls had a birthday and they all came to a gig last week. But her date got completely wasted and tried heckling me, so I ended up verbally bitch-slapping him until security finally tossed him. The awesome part is, she stayed! Guess she liked my version of the show better than his. When I got here tonight, she actually thanked me for exposing him for the complete douche nozzle he is and told me she'd dumped his ass. So I'm putting that one down in the win column for me!"

Stepping outside, they saw it had begun to rain. "Shall I call you a cab, or would you care to share one?" he offered, suddenly feeling foolish for having said so. He didn't even know where she lived.

"Nah, that's okay. My place is just down a few blocks. I can hoof it."

"But, you don't even have an umbrella."

"No worries. I ain't made of sugar, so I won't melt! Besides, I like the rain, remember?"

"I know, but...please, at least let me walk you," he insisted, opening up his own umbrella.

"Well, look at you, a regular Boy Scout. Always prepared," she teased, taking his arm.

They laughed and chatted. After a few minutes the rain stopped, and he folded his umbrella. She still held his arm.

"Well, this is me," she finally said, stopping. "I really want to thank you, Spencer. I had the best time tonight. And the flowers are...they're very beautiful. My new favorites."

"Well, you're welcome. And thank you, too. It's been wonderful. May I...I mean...would you mind if maybe I saw you again?"

"You'd better! And you'd better not wait another seven years before you do." She let go of his arm and squeezed his hand. "Good night, Spencer. Thanks again."

"Good night," he replied softly, as she turned to go in.

Suddenly she stopped and turned back toward him. Taking a step forward she said, "You know, there's something I've been wondering about, ever since we first met."

"What's that?"

"What it would be like."

"What what would be like?"

She stood up on her tiptoes, put her hand behind his neck and pressed her lips to his. Without even realizing it, his arms crept around her and pulled her in close. After what seemed like a long while, she stood back with her feet flat on the ground again and rested her forehead on his chest. She sighed and murmured, "That was...wow..."

"Yes..." He put a hand under her chin and raised her face to his. "So when?"

"When?"

"When may I see you again?" Before she could answer he kissed her, deeply this time, holding her so tightly he nearly lifted her off her feet. After, they stood there quietly for a moment, still holding one another.

"I suppose you can call me any time after 10 tomorrow. I should be awake and lucid by then..."

"Okay. I will."

She turned and went inside. After watching her disappear, he began to walk to the corner to catch a cab. It started to rain again. He turned his face upwards and smiled. He didn't put his umbrella up.

* * *

Back at his apartment in Baltimore, Joe was working on editing some videos and posting them on Chris' YouTube channel when he got an email. It was from her. There was nothing in the subject line. He opened it to find a single sentence:

 _I think I just went out with the man I want to spend the rest of my life with._

Joe smiled to himself. It only took her seven years to figure out what he had known all along. A few minutes later his phone buzzed with a text message. This one was from Spencer.

 _My first kiss was better than yours._

Brittney Harters. She had braces and smelled like Reese's cups. He'd forgotten he'd told Spencer that story. Laurie came in the room and asked, "What are you laughing about now?"

He closed his laptop and stood up to hold her. "Oh, Chris and that guy I told you about just finished their date. And it seems it went well. Come on," he said,swatting her bottom. "Let's go to bed."

* * *

A/N added 4/29/2016

It has been brought to my attention that some readers, particularly those outside the US, may not have had the opportunity to have seen every episode in Criminal Minds as many times as I have. Therefore, I will henceforth attempt to add notes, where appropriate, to explain certain references to the original show as they relate to this story.

In this chapter, there is a reference made to a case involving "The Blue Ridge Strangler". This case was first referred to in season 3 episode 19, "Tabula Rasa". It originally aired May 14, 2008 and involved an UnSub who had been in a coma for over four years after an attempt to apprehend him resulted in the UnSub, named Brian Matloff, suffered a traumatic brain injury. This chapter begins in March 2005, which I, by virtue of creative license, have decided to establish as the one year anniversary off this event. In season 1 episode 4, "In Plain Sight," the team is seen celebrating Reid's 24th birthday. Because the original air date in the US of that episode was October 12, 2005, I decided to accept this as Reid's birthday for the sake of this story, which would make him 23 at the beginning of this story. Therefore, if he first met Christine seven years prior, he would have been just 16.

There are throughout the show many references to Reid having an apartment in Washington, D.C. (which is referred to by locals as simply, "the District"). FBI headquarters, however, are _not_ located in the District- they are located in Quantico, Virginia, which lies 36 miles (58km) to the south of the city. There are frequent references in the show to Reid taking the subway (the Metro) to commute, and other fans have deduced that he lives in a neighborhood of the city that lies in the Northwest part of the city- I accept this as correct for the purposes of this story. The White House is towards the south, and DuPont Circle and Farragut Park, major landmarks towards the center of the city, with Connecticut Avenue serving as the main route between all locations. The DC Improv is a real comedy venue that would, in fact, be nearby to the location where Joe first runs into Spencer, the implication being that he was just leaving- or perhaps taking a stroll before- a show when they met.

Please message me if you'd like further clarification. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

She grimaced and cursed under her breath when the sun came up and shone right in her eyes. It wasn't even 7:00 yet. If she'd performed last night, she'd have barely crawled into bed by now. But she had purposely left the curtains open last night so she'd wake up this morning. She could never sleep once the room was light. She rolled over and tried, though. She hadn't been able to sleep much last night. She'd been too excited after seeing Spencer again. And kissing him. And knowing he wanted to see her again, too. She bear-hugged a pillow and snuggled back down under the covers, but that didn't last too long. So she dragged herself out of bed, put on a pot of coffee and hopped in the shower.

Padding back out to her kitchen, she poured a cup of coffee and sat down cross legged on her sofa. _Saturday mornings have the shittiest TV_ , she complained to herself. _Even the cartoons these days suck. Just once I'd like to hear someone tell that whiny, self-centered, bald-headed little brat Caillou to butch up and put on some big-boy panties 'cause no one actually cares about his tiny little Canadian feelings._ The news shows weren't much better. They were full of whiny, balding old guys. So she opened up her laptop. Joe had answered her email.

 _Ha! And you didn't wanna go. Heard you even got to swap a little spit. You have my permission to name your firstborn Joseph. You're welcome._

She stuck her tongue out at the screen and fell victim to her old time-sucking habit of web surfing until it was nearly 10:00. And if she knew Spencer as she thought she did, he'd take, "call me anytime after 10 tomorrow," to mean, "call me between precisely 10:01 and 10:05." She jumped up and went to the bathroom to fix her hair. As she stood brushing her teeth, she looked at herself and started to laugh. _For god's sake, it's a phone call; he won't even see you, Chris._ She spit and heard her cell ring in the other room. She picked it up. 10:02. _Called it!_

"Hello?"

"Hello. It's Spencer."

"Yeah. I know. That's the magic of caller ID."

"Oh. Yes. Of course. Well, I wanted to thank you again for the lovely evening. I...um...to be honest, I...I really didn't want to go. But I'm very glad I did."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Joe had to work for days to convince me to show up."

"I imagine. I was standing right there when he called you. I could tell you were not enthusiastic about the idea."

"Ah. So is that why you felt the need to tell him I kissed you?" She smiled as his awkward stammering fell into uncomfortable silence. She felt a little guilty for messing with his mind and making him uneasy. But just a little.

"Oh. I... I guess I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, Christine. It wasn't very gentlemanly of me."

He sounded so deflated by the idea of having affronted her, the poor guy. "Nah, no worries. Hey, if you hadn't told him, I probably would have. Besides, you guys brag to one another, am I right?"

"Ha. Not me. But then, I've never actually had anything to brag about. Not socially, anyway." He paused for a moment then continued, "so...may I still see you again sometime?"

"Sure. What are your plans today?"

"Today? Oh, wow, well, um, nothing, really. Nothing that can't wait, anyway."

"Great. So what say we meet at 1:00, then?"

"1:00? Oh, okay, sure. Shall I pick you up at your place, then?"

"That depends. You still driving that hideous old Swedish pile of shit?"

"Hey! That's a classic! And yes. I am."

"Then no. I'll pick you up. Text me your address and I'll see you at 1:00."

"Sounds good. I'll see you then."

"Oh, and Spencer?"

"Yes?"

"Dress down, alright? Like, way down."

"Oh. Um. Okay. Bye."

"Bye!"

She stood up, stretched and poured herself some more coffee before sitting back down in front of her computer. She flipped open the steno pad she carried with her and tried to flesh out some of her randomly scrawled notes into actual stories. Her phone chirped. He'd texted her his address. She smiled and fiddled around, trying to figure out how to save the number in her contacts. _Goddammit, Joseph! There wasn't one fucking thing wrong with my old phone!_ He'd bought her a new cell, one so highly advanced neither of them could actually figure out how to really use it. But after swearing at it profusely and one attempt to choke it, she finally accomplished the feat. By that time, however, she was too frustrated by with the phone and too excited about seeing Spencer again that she couldn't write. So she picked her phone back up and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. Would you be so kind as to put then man upon whom you permit yourself to waste oxygen on the phone?"

"Hey Chris. Sure. He's right here." And a moment later she heard, "Yep. What's up? Calling to thank me?"

"Not for this ridiculous phone, I'm not. I still hate this thing. Do you realize I just spent nearly 10 minutes of my life that I will never get back trying to enter a single contact?"

"Aw, poor little Gingersnap! And whose contact info were you trying to put in, I wonder?"

"You know full well whose. Out with it. What did he say to you?"

"Nothing. Just that you guys kissed."

"Come on…"

"Really. That's it. And that it was good. It was just a text."

"He said it was good?"

"What are you, 13? Yeah. That's what he said. So…you ready to apologize for giving me shit for this?"

"Ach…yeah. Sorry. But how was I supposed to know?"

"You should have trusted me. Gotta say, though, I was a little disappointed it didn't go better."

"Go better? It was amazing! We had a lot of fun!"

"Yeah…no. What you had was a little fun. A lot of fun would have been if you too had hooked up."

"Dude, I know we're friends, but you're still my brother, which makes discussing this with you all sorts of creepy."

"Yeah, like you're Miss Manners. But I know this- both of you seriously need to get laid."

"Joseph!"

"See that? Right there. Bitchtastic. And God knows that boy is wound up tighter than an eight-day clock. You should help him out with that…"

"You're such a perv."

"Yes I am, but it doesn't mean I'm not right! When you gonna see him again?"

"At one."

"Today?"

"Yeah."

"Well, my advice is to take an extra pair of panties with in case he want to keep yours as a souvenir."

"Shut up!"

"And remember to use protection!"

"Bye!"

She stood up and paced for a bit. Her brother was such a pig. But what bothered her even more was that he was right. Spencer was so…God she just wanted to lick that boy like a lollipop! She wondered, though, how long it would take him to get a clue. She downed the last of her coffee then went to throw on a t-shirt and jeans. As she was leaving the bedroom she stopped, turned, and flipped the light back on. She rummaged through one of her drawers checking tags until she found the size she was looking for, stuffed it in her purse, and got herself out the door.

* * *

Back in his apartment, Spencer sighed heavily. _Dress down. What does that even mean?_ He shook his head and put on something that seemed casual enough to him. As he was buttoning up his shirt, he heard a knock on the door. He looked through the peephole and saw only what he presumed to be a hand covering it. He opened it and said, "Two questions: first, why would you cover the peephole, and second, how did you get up here?"

"Good afternoon to you, too," she replied, walking in uninvited. "Better question- who else were you expecting today that necessitated you even needing to look?" She sat down on his sofa and smiled.

"Please. Make yourself at home, Christine," he muttered. "You do remember what I told you I do for a living, correct? We find and apprehend criminals who are often extremely dangerous and violent, and some of them are also disturbingly intelligent, as well. Sometimes, they come after us. We've had agents stalked and even attacked in their own homes."

"Pfft. I can't imagine you having an enemy in the world. You're entirely too nice. And to answer your second question, I saw someone walk up to the door with keys in his hand, so I played the some-dumb-chick-who-can't-find-my-keys card and he held the door for me. Easy."

"And that's precisely why I have to be careful, because obviously my neighbors are not."

She acted as if she hadn't heard him and instead asked, "So that's what you're wearing?"

"This is okay, right?"

"I'm guessing that's just an outfit you wear to work, minus the tie. You don't have any jeans?"

"No. I don't."

"Yeah…my father doesn't either. But he's in his sixties. You're 24. What's your excuse?"

"I'm 23 still, actually."

"And no jeans. Jeez. Nice shoes, though. What are those, Ferragamo?"

"Yes."

"Sweet. Expensive, but sweet. Marilyn Monroe swore by them."

"I wasn't aware."

"So no sneakers, either?"

"No."

"Uh huh." She grinned up at him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He sighed. "What?"

"Nothing! I'm just a little jealous, that's all. It's not easy to be seen in out in public with a guy who's far prettier than I am."

He made a face.

She opened her purse and pulled out the t-shirt she'd grabbed. She tossed it to him and said, "Put this on. It'll make me feel a little less self-conscious."

He turned to leave the room when she said, "Where are you going?"

"To change."

"Seriously? You know, I've seen bare-chested men before, right?"

He stopped for a moment and answered, "Well, today you don't get to see mine until you've bought me dinner."

"Wow! Sassy!" She laughed and waved him away.

He returned after a moment wearing the t-shirt she'd given them. "How is this? Better? And what is CSULB, anyway? I'm not familiar…"

"'California State University at Long Beach'. I play a lot of college campuses and they always give me souvenirs, but they don't always get the sizes right." While she was saying this, she'd started laughing so hard that by the time she finished she was in tears. "And you'll never guess what their nickname is."

"Not a clue."

She was wiping tears from her cheeks when she said, "They're the Dirtbags. Swear to God! They're the Long Beach Dirtbags! So no matter what title you give yourself or however respectable your job is, today everyone will think you're just a Dirtbag!"

"I can't believe you're such a brat! I'm taking this off…"

She jumped up and caught him as he was leaving to change. "No! Please leave it on. It's funny!"

"You did this on purpose."

"No, it's just a happy coincidence! Oh come on. Honestly now, when I grabbed that I was only looking at the tag. I didn't even think about the logo. Come on…" She had grabbed him around the waist and was holding him there, but she could see his anger at her fading away.

"One thing though, sweetheart. You can't go out with this tucked in. For once, try acting your age, wouldja?" She started pulling the shirt out and looked up at him with a smile, her hands still on his waist. He leaned down and kissed her for what seemed at the time like a very long while.

"You just called me 'sweetheart'," he said softly. "I like that."

"Good."

"May I say the same to you, too?"

"You may call me whatever you like."

"Thank you."

"Come on, now. There's something I have to show you." She took his hand. As they walked out the door, she remarked, "You're gonna be sorry you wore those shoes."

When they got to the street she stopped, and Spencer's jaw dropped. "This is yours?" he asked.

"Just got it."

"Where'd you find it?"

"I know a guy. His wife's aunt's husband died, and when they were helping her get his stuff ready for auction they found this back in the barn under a tarp. He got her running but his wife wanted the money off it. So I made him a respectable offer. Gotta have her repainted though. It's hard to take a pony car seriously when it's robin's egg blue."

"What have you got in mind?"

"I'm thinking dark metallic blue. Can you see it? This car will be so mean it'll look like it wants to kick your ass. Can you handle four on the floor?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Then head's up." She tossed him the keys, which he fumbled. As he stooped to pick them up, she added, "That's reassuring. Get in the car, Slick. Let's see if you can handle the car better than the keys."

She walked started to get in when he said, "Wait!"

"What?"

"Allow me," he opened the door for her. She got in and smirked as he ran over to the driver's side, giggling like a school boy.

He turned the engine over and let out a deep sigh of appreciation. "Man, that is beautiful."

"I know, right? She doesn't purr so much as she growls like an hungry tiger."

"V-8?"

"You think I'd buy a Mustang with anything less? What kind of a fool do you take me for?"

"'66?"

"Good eye," she said, as he backed up. "Easy now, she's got some giddy-up to her- damn, Spencer!" she cried as he pulled out into traffic, throwing her back into the seat.

"Whoa. You did not lie!"

"No shit. Now, take I-66 out of town. I'll tell you where to get off."

"Where are we going?"

"I'll tell you when we get there."

About an hour later they were making their way down some back roads south of Manassas when she said, "Take the next left. And bear in mind that this area is unincorporated, so after you make the turn, feel free to dump the clutch and turn her lose. The way she feels running at full honk is indescribable."

"I've already told you you're a terrible influence, correct?"

"Don't be such a puss. Besides, doesn't that badge come with a Get Out of Jail Free card?"

"No, it most certainly does not. And if I get charged with reckless driving, I can lose my job."

"Do it…you know you wanna."

"No."

"Puuuussss…pusspusspusspusspuss…"

"Stop."

"If you act naughty, I promise I'll spank you!"

"That's tempting…"

"Really? Ooh, Spencer, you freak! Do it!"

After they made the turn, he pushed the car up to 70 briefly before easing off the accelerator. "Happy?"

"Meh," she replied, and then, "Hey, see that driveway up on the right? Turn down there."

They made their way down a long gravel drive. Eventually, the trees cleared and they came to a stop in front of a large, rundown greek revival home. She got out. He turned off the engine and joined her.

"So- what do you think?"

"I think…if this were October, it would make an excellent haunted house. Very creepy. What do you think?"

She smiled and said as she started up the steps to the veranda, "I think it's mine."

"You're considering buying it?" he asked as he followed her.

"No. I'm done considering it. As of last week it's been bought and paid for."

"You're serious?"

"As a heart attack. Hand me those keys." She opened the door and invited him in. "Yeah, I know. Don't tell me what it looks like now. Look around and imagine what it _could_ look like."

He stood for a long moment and looked around. There were cracked and missing tiles on the foyer floor. Rotting crown molding. Peeling paint and wallpaper. Broken panes of glass. But that could be repaired. The staircases on either side of the foyer were grand. The wooden floors in the front parlor only needed refinishing. From where he stood, he could see two marble fireplaces in opposite rooms that would be gracious and inviting once cleaned. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I can see it. Are you sure you want to put all the effort and expense into it, though?"

"The deal is done. I wouldn't have closed on it if I wasn't sure. But that's not the best part. Come here!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the house and out the back door. Off to one end of the house, she pointed to a pair of doors on the ground. "Know what that is?"

"A storm shelter."

"Mmm, that's more of a tornado alley thing. I think around here they'd refer to it as a root cellar. Very useful for storing all sorts of things. Or hiding them."

"I didn't know you were so passionate about gardening."

"I'm not. But potatoes weren't all they kept down there."

"I'm listening."

"When I was first looking at the house, I found an old chest in the attic with some very old diaries. So I got a flashlight and went spelunking. And I saw some very interesting things scratched into the walls down there."

He paused and turned to her. "Wait. Are you serious?"

"Everything appears to be of the time period. If authentic, this was a stop on the Underground Railroad."

"But what brought you out to even look at this place? Did you suspect it?"

"Not at all. It belonged to an old bachelor cousin of my grandmother. When he passed, she was his last living relative. None of my siblings or cousins had the resources, inclination or ability to relocated that I had. And grandma and grandpa offered it to me at a helluva price."

"Now I understand the attraction." Before studying geology at MIT, where they'd met, she'd studied history at the University of Chicago. It was her first love. She never could have passed up the chance to own a piece of it.

She put her arms around him. "Yeah, you get it. You know how crazy I am."

"I do," he said. "But you know how much I like crazy. I do crazy for a living." He leaned down and kissed her. He found her childlike giddiness over something so… _nerdy…_ simply adorable.

"So. That's it. That's my house. I've found a contractor. He assures me of two things. First, that this place is destined to be an endless money pit, and second, that it should be minimally inhabitable by late summer. Which is perfect, because that's when my lease is up. You hungry?"

"Yeah, I am, actually."

"Then let me buy you a late lunch. See if you can catch 'em this time," she teased, tossing him the keys. He caught them. As he turned back towards the house, he felt a hard slap across his backside and spun around. "I told you I'd spank you if you were naughty. But you weren't _too_ naughty, so that's all you get."

* * *

Spencer looked past over her shoulder at his watch. It was 5:47. "Hey now!" he laughed, as she kissed his neck. "That tickles! Chris, you know it's five- hey! Listen, it's-" She shut him up by kissing him on the lips again. "You know it's…stop for a moment!" He leaned back away from her and smiled. "The forest preserve closes at 6:00pm. We don't have much time left. We should consider-" She cut him off again.

"Oh, could you try _not_ to be a cop for just a little while?" She smiled mischievously at him as she moved her hand from his hip up under his shirt.

"I just thought you should know." Her hand felt so good against his bare back. "But I guess we can stay a little longer…" He leaned over to kiss her back and wondered if he should try to put his hand under her shirt, or if he'd get slapped for trying. He wished he were as bold as her.

"You know, turns out there's a lot you miss out on in high school when you graduate before you hit puberty. Like making out in cars."

"I never thought about it like that," he replied. "But it's still a lot of fun to do now." He leaned back in and put his hand on her thigh, having resolved to attempt the same hand-under-the-shirt move she'd used on him. And then he felt a buzzing in his pocket. "Son of a bitch!"

He fished his phone out of his pocket and looked at it while she grumbled, "Oh, don't mind me. No please. Answer your phone. I don't mind waiting at all."

It was work. Of course it was. "Sorry…" He flipped it open to answer the call, "This is Reid…Okay…I understand…Where's the case?...I can be there by then, yes…Alright. Bye." He snapped his phone shut and sighed, then looked over at Christine. "I don't suppose you can drop me off at Quantico?"

"Gee, you get to deal with dark, depressing, gruesome and grizzly shit all week _and_ on Saturday nights? Your job doesn't suck at all!" She looked at him again and felt sorry for saying it. He was as disappointed as she, and she'd just made him feel worse. "Yeah, I can take you. Sorry for snapping. Get out. I'll drive." After they'd gotten back in the car she turned to him again and said, "You sure you don't want me to take you home first? I'm not sure, but I'm guessing that shirt isn't exactly FBI regulation work attire."

He'd all but forgotten he was wearing it. "No. It's okay," he said, as they pulled out onto the highway. "I always keep a few changes clothes at work. We have to always be ready to travel and don't always know when we'll be returning. Speaking of which, when I do get back, may I see you again?"

She laughed. "You don't have to ask every time, you know. And of course you may. Provided you're back by Tuesday. I have to leave early Wednesday."

"Oh? Where will you be going?"

"Catching a flight to Chicago. Going to spend Easter weekend with the family."

"Oh. That sounds like fun."

"Nah, not really. It'll probably primarily involve my father asking me if I've decided to take my licensing exam so I can finally get a real job because he can't accept I'm actually making a living doing what I do, cooking with my mother and being told I'm doing it all wrong, and skillfully avoiding dealing with the Colonel."

"So Wes is still in the Marines."

"Just made lieutenant colonel. Or so my mother tells me. It's always fun to go home and be made to feel like a loser in all aspects of life…"

He stared at his hands for a moment, at a loss for words. "I'm sorry. That they make you feel like that, I mean. You're not, of course…a loser that is…"

"Don't be. For the most part, I have a pretty thick skin. And in a way, I can understand my father's thinking. I mean, he worked his whole life to send me to college. And I've repaid him by getting a job making fun of him in front of strangers."

He chuckled. "Well, when you put it like that…I guess I may be on your dad's side."

"Jerk."

"I'm kidding!"

"So am I. Anyway, after that, I'm back on the road for another four weeks. Joe and I head for Minneapolis next Tuesday, and we finish up in at UCSD April 22. Then I'm pretty much home for the summer!"

She sounded so excited to be going back to work again, but he felt as though he'd just been punched in the stomach. I hadn't occurred to him that she'd be leaving so soon and for so long. "So it sounds like this was just a break for you?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I've mostly been touring college campuses this spring, so I got to take spring break, too! But I have a lot to do with the house this summer and I seriously need time to work on some new material, so I begged Joe to let me take a few months off after that. It'll be the first time in years that's happened. I'm both looking forward to it and dreading it. I'm not entirely sure I'll know what to do with myself with so much time on my hands."

"Yeah. I understand. Well, maybe, we could find some things to do together. If you want to, I that is," he suggested shyly.

They stopped at an intersection and she turned to him. Placing her hand on his thigh, she gave him a little squeeze and said, "That sounds fan- _freaking_ -tastic. I can't wait."

He smiled. "Take a right up here, and have your ID ready at the gate."

A few moments later they pulled up in front of the Hoover Building. "This is you," she announced.

"Thanks for the ride. And for the afternoon. And the lunch. I hope I can see you again before you leave."

"Me too. Wait!" she said, grabbing his arm as he started to get out. "Come back here." She pulled him back and gave him one last kiss. "Now you may leave. Be safe."

"Thank you. You too." He watched as she pulled off and went up to his floor. When the elevator doors opened, he went quickly to his desk and grabbed his go-bag and left again to go change his shirt.

Watching him with curiosity, Garcia remarked, "Gee, I never knew he was a Dirtbag."

"Garcia! That's mean! He didn't look that bad," JJ laughed.

"Oh! No! I mean Long Beach. That's their nickname. Seriously. Hey, I know things, too!"

"I'm just surprised he has any t-shirt. I was starting think Pretty Boy slept in a shirt and tie," Morgan added, his eyebrows raised.

Stepping out of his office, Hotch called down, "Was that Reid? Good. Then we're all here. When he gets back, have him come up. We need to get started."

"I'm here, I'm here," Spencer said, hurrying back into the bullpen. He stashed his bag under his desk and ran up the stairs, still tying his tie. They all smothered a laugh when he caught himself clumsily after tripping from trying to do two things at once.

"Come on, get in there," Morgan said, slapping him on the back. "And sit down before you hurt yourself."

* * *

Monday night found Christine on the phone in her apartment saying, "Well, yeah Joe, I saw him Saturday. I told you."

"And…?"

"And what? That's it. I took him out to see the farm. I think he appreciated it. Or at least, he appreciated why I appreciate it."

"That's it?"

"We had a late lunch, found a quiet place to park to spend a little quality alone time, and then he got called into work."

"So you didn't…"

"No, perv. We did not. He was a perfect gentleman. Well, almost."

"How _almost_?"

"That is none of your damned business, Joseph, so just leave it alone, okay? You know, I don't see the need to rush it, and I'm not going to push the issue. If he wants it, he'll have to make the move."

"Hey, I just want you to be happy. And I don't think he's exactly a hit it and quit it kind of guy, know what I mean? Or is it that you're not sure?"

"Me, I could lick that man like a lollipop if I thought he wanted me too. But then, I've never in my vast dating experience known a guy who even wanted a second date with me, or I with him, for that matter. So this is sort of uncharted territory for me."

"So when are you going to see him again?"

"I dunno. I told him if he's home by tomorrow we could go out. But it seems like he's at the mercy of his job. So it may just have to be a while."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Mmmhmm. Very briefly last night. He sounded dead tired. Anyway, getting back to the reason I called…so you and that beautiful lady who is way too good for you will be at my place around 8ish?"

"Yeah, that's the plan."

"Good. So then we can get a- hold on. I've got a call. Just a sec," she held out her phone and checked the ID. "Hot damn, it's him. I'm gonna answer it, so just hang up, 'cause I don't know how to do all that yet on this piece of crap, okay?"

"K. Call me tomorrow."

She hung up and said, "Hello?" There was no answer. _Dammit! I hung up on the wrong one!_ "Hello?"

"Hi, Christine?"

"Hey, you! Sorry I was just getting rid of Joe on the other line."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. Did you need to get back to him?"

"God, no. I talk to him entirely too much as it is. So how are you?"

"I'm well, thank you. And relieved."

"Case going well?"

"Actually, the case is solved. We apprehended the suspect an hour ago. But it's late, so we're not leaving for home until tomorrow morning. Which is the primary reason I'm relieved."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I…well…I was very surprised when you told me you'd be going out of town, and I was hoping we'd have the chance to see one another again before you leave. So now it looks like we can. Provided you want to, that is."

"Yeah, sure. Of course I do. Was there anything you had in mind to do, or shall we just play it by ear."

"Ha. I'm not exactly one to play things by ear."

"You always were the hyper-organized sort. Well, you make whatever plans you like, and just let me know. I'm pretty much down for anything."

"Just to clarify- that does mean you're open to different ideas, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sweetheart. That's what that means."

"Oh, good. I got it right. I don't always keep abreast of current slang like I should."

"Eh, I consider it part of your charm."

"Well, that's fortunate. I think most people find it makes me strange and somewhat off-putting. It's refreshing to hear someone finds it charming."

"I do. You know," she said with a laugh, "I was just telling Joe that you're the first guy that I've ever met whom I not only wanted to see again, but who was also willing to see me again. So I think that's something we share in common- we can enjoy one another's company even if no one else can."

"Perhaps you're correct. So, how has your day been?"

"Mildly productive. I wrote some today. Watched some video of myself. Made notes on that. Joe's got a few guys he'd like me to consider as openers on my tour this fall, so I watched video of them. Stuff like that. Oh! And I found out my contractor also creates stained glass windows. He does really amazing, original things of his own design. It's quite impressive. Anyway, the great thing about that is he'll be able to repair a few that I have on the house. It won't come cheap, but it'll be done right. I'm telling you, that place will be amazing when I'm done with it. It'll be like stepping into a time machine, but with electricity, hot water and central heat and air."

"Well, then I must say I'm disappointed in you. That last part sounds terribly anachronistic."

"Bite me."

He chuckled. "Well, I should be off work at a reasonable hour tomorrow. So may I pick you up at 7:00?"

"Sounds fantastic! I'll see you then!"

"Alright then. Good bye."

"Good night, Spencer. Sweet dreams."

* * *

Alone in his hotel room, he flipped his phone shut and laid back on the bed. He stared for a while up at the ceiling, still holding his phone against his chest. She had called him sweetheart again. And she had slapped his ass and made out with him in a muscle car just two days prior. He groaned to himself. He was ready to go much further with her. But he just wasn't sure she was ready, too. He didn't want rush her. And he knew he wouldn't be able to endure the rejection if she turned him down now. He considered asking Morgan for advice and quickly decided against it. He'd probably laugh at him for being so clueless about women. He sighed, then took off his glasses and tossed them on the nightstand along with his phone. Switching off the lamp, he rolled over, grabbed the extra bed pillow and held it in a bear hug. It was one of those rare times at which he found he'd rather dream than stay up reading.

* * *

He pressed the buzzer next to her name.

"Hello?"

"It's Spencer." He heard the buzz and opened the gate. He tried to walk slowly up to her floor; his heart seemed ready to beat out of his chest. He was about to knock on her door when it swung open.

"There you are!" Without further words she threw her arms around him for a kiss.

After a long moment he said, "Yes, and you really should be more-"

"Oh, hush up and get in here!" She pulled him in and shut the door behind him. "So, what's the plan?"

"Well, I hope Indian is alright…"

"You mean dinner? Sure. I have a stomach of iron, a sense of adventure and a taste for the exotic. Let's do it. What shall I wear?"

He hesitated for a moment before saying, "Not…that." She was in gym shorts and a t-shirt.

"So clue me in. Do I need to wear a dress?"

He knew she had issues with dresses and skirts and only wore them when no other attire was appropriate. So as much as he liked to see her legs he answered, "I guess dress-casual is appropriate."

"Done!" She hurried down the hall to her room to change and left him to examine her living room. It was sparse in terms of proper furniture. There was a large TV on a cheap stand, an expensive stereo, and books stacked on the floor beside towers of DVDs and CDs. The only wall decorations were a corkboard covered with Post-It notes and post cards and a framed poster of Jimi Hendrix that had seen better days.

"Good enough?" She held her arms out. She was wearing a plain white blouse and dark gray slacks. She wasn't wearing sneakers.

"Sure. Ferragamo shoes?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Hey, at least I can afford them. But I refuse to wear heals. I'm short and proud, dammit."

"Sure. But you know, Marilyn Monroe wore them."

After dinner, she invited him back to her place for coffee. And he had…coffee. After pouring him a cup she snuggled against him on the sofa. "I'm really glad you made it back tonight."

"So am I. Christine?"

"Hmm?"

"I just…I mean…I think you should know…well…while you're gone, I won't be thinking of seeing anyone else. Socially, that is."

"I see. And I presume you're telling me this primarily because you're hoping I'll make a similar pledge to you?" She sat up and looked at him with a smile. He became flustered and avoided eye contact.

"Hey, now, look at me," she ordered. "And listen up. I've had a thing for you for years. Also, I'm leaving for _work_. I'm going to go do my job, not look for a hook-up. This is what I do. Can you accept that?"

She held his face between her hands and stared at him. "Yes," he answered.

"Okay, then. Now try and loosen up a little before I've got to throw you out…"

They kissed and giggled for another 15 or 20 minutes. She managed to pull his tie off and attempted to leave a mark on his neck before he stopped her. He ran the palm of his hand up her side and felt the swell of her breast before cautiously moving his thumb over. He was sure that, beneath her bra, her nipple was erect. And she didn't pull away…

But the night ended with a long kiss at the door before he walked out into another cool, dark night.

* * *

A/N added 4/29/2016

"Caillou" is a Canadian-produced children's cartoon that is no longer in syndication in the US, but would have been in 2005. My kid used to watch that show. If you have not seen it, my advice to you is: don't. It's super annoying.

The car referenced here is a 1966 Ford Mustang. "Four on the floor" is a reference to the manual transmission available on some models. This model, as described, had the largest available engine in it. I have driven a car like this (albeit one with an automatic transmission). If you ever have the chance to do so yourself, take it. It is amazing. It's such an obnoxiously large engine for a fairly small car that the moment you touch the gas it just flies away. Beware of whiplash. I wrote this assuming this in not Christine's primary vehicle- a classic car like this is something one buys to collect, not to use for running errands.

I envision Christine's home to be located near the small town of Bristow, Virginia. It's a rural area that actually would be closer to Quantico than Washington, DC is.


	3. Chapter 3

They got a case the last Thursday of April and didn't return until the following Friday evening. Some of the others wanted to grab a drink to unwind, but Christine had been home since Tuesday already and he was too eager to see her, so he feigned fatigue and excused himself. He thought it would be romantic to surprise her, so he didn't call in advance to let her he'd returned. For all she knew, he was still in Arizona. On the way, he stopped and picked up some tulips. He smiled all the way to her apartment. Until, that is, he stopped to be buzzed up. When he looked up at her place to see if her lights were still on, he saw not one, but two shadows behind the curtains. And one was clearly male. Since he knew Joe was in Baltimore, he couldn't imagine why she would be entertaining a man this late in the evening, unless it was for reasons she did not want him knowing about. He breathed deeply to calm himself and pushed the buzzer.

"Hello?"

"Hello. It's Spencer."

"Spencer! Oh my god! What are you..." He heard another voice in the background, to which she replied, "Yes, that Spencer. Hate to give you the bum's rush, but..." She was back with him, saying, "Spencer, come on up!"

He heard the door buzz and entered. As he was walking up the stairs to her apartment, he passed another man coming down who smiled at him. He didn't smile back. When he reached her door, she opened it wide and invited him in. She was wearing a yellow t-shirt and some fleece pants.

"Hey! Welcome back! What a great surprise!"

"Yeah, I was a little surprised, too. I didn't know you made it a habit to entertain men late at night in your pajamas."

"Whoa. Are you jealous?" She seemed genuinely surprised and somewhat bemused at his reaction.

"Who was he?"

"Well, I could tell you his name is Geoff, but I think the question you really want answered is am I fucking him."

Spencer didn't say a word.

"Well, first off, I may not be much to look at, but if I _were_ to try and seduce a guy, even I would make an effort to wear something more appropriate for the occasion than hand-me-down race car pants I got from my nephew and a t-shirt from 4-H camp I got when I was 12. Secondly, do you really think I'd be so heartless or stupid as to risk losing the man I've carried a torch for all these years for a schlub like that? For anyone?"

"What was he doing here, then?" he asked quietly.

"I've been looking for someone to open for me this fall, and Joe and I narrowed the options down to him and one other guy. He just finished a gig in town and came over. Joe had given him my address. I wasn't expecting him anymore than I was you."

She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Really, Spencer? You're not going to be a jealous ass in this relationship, are you? Because, if so, this isn't going to work out. Firstly because my line of work is kind of a sausage fest, but most of all, that's a kind of stress I don't need in my life."

Her arms made his irritation start to slip away, and he put his arms around her in return. He kissed the top of her head. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean by 'a sausage fest?'"

She laughed loudly. "I mean it's a male dominated field. You look confused. So, think a little bit about the differences between male and female anatomies. Ah…see? Now you get it."

"Yes. I got it. Another question: are you going to do it?"

"Maybe. Probably. I wanna have Joe try and book us at a club or two first to see how we work together before I decide. Come on. Come sit down for a bit with me. Care for a drink? Hey, by the way- were those for me?" She pointed to the tulips.

"Yes, of course," he answered, handing them to her.

"Thank you," she replied, and kissed his cheek.

She sat him down then went to the kitchen. She came back first with the tulips in a vase, then again with some wine and two glasses. Pouring it, she said, "You know, you are henceforth forbidden to ever bring me any flowers other than white tulips."

"But what if I brought you red roses?"

"Those would go directly in the bin." She poured their wine then sat down and snuggled up to his shoulder. "I'll never care about what you spend, and far less about what society dictates. White tulips are the best for me, because they'll always make me think of you." She broke one off and stuck it in the pocket of his jacket.

"Wanna watch a movie?"

He shrugged his shoulders. He was suddenly feeling the effects of a full week of near-sleepless nights.

"Ever seen 'Blazing Saddles'?"

"No. But I know you like westerns, so, alright."

"It's not really a western…well, it is, but…oh, you'll see."

She put the DVD in and they settled back on the sofa. He didn't really pay much attention to the movie. He enjoyed just sitting there with his arm around her, breathing in the scent of her hair as she rested her head on his chest. He finished his glass of wine and she poured him another. He drank it, listening to her laughter, and wasn't aware he was falling asleep until he became aware she was shaking his shoulder. "Enjoy your nap, sleepyhead?"

He rubbed his eyes and felt foolish. He had thought his visit tonight would some sort of romantic gesture. But all he'd done was behave like a jealous boor and fall asleep after a little wine. "I'm so sorry. I should go now..." He started to stand but she put a hand on his chest, urging him to sit.

"No, I don't think you should be going anywhere now. It's nearly midnight and your buzzed. When was the last time you even ate? Anyway, you're staying here tonight. You can have my bed; I'll take the couch."

"What? No. I'll take the couch. Don't be ridiculous."

"But I'm short. I'll fit better on it. I don't mind."

"No. I- that's not right. Seriously, let me have the couch."

Seeing he was determined to play the gentleman, she acquiesced. "You're impossible. I'll go get some bedding."

He smiled a little wryly as he watched he go down the hall. It wasn't the way in which he'd hoped to spend his first night at her place, but it would have to do. She returned with pillows, blankets and some clothes. "Lucky for you I get so many free t-shirts. This should fit you. And these warmup pants used to be Joe's. I think they're long enough. Anyway, they should be more comfortable than sleeping in dress pants and a tie. There's a new contact case on the bathroom counter, and I found a new toothbrush, too. Do you have your glasses? Cool. You'll have to settle for one of my combs in the morning, but I don't have cooties, I promise. Here's a towel. I don't care if you use my shampoo, but if you're not in the mood to smell like gardenias and coconuts in the morning, there's plenty of stolen hotel samples in the cabinet under the sink on the left side. I don't really have any night lights, but if you leave the curtains open a bit in here there should be enough light from the street to help you avoid tripping on your way to the bathroom if you have to pee in the middle of the night. And...I think that's it! Anything else you need?"

He shook his head. "No. Thank you, Christine."

She sat down beside him. "You're welcome, Spencer." She slid her hand behind his head and pulled him close. She kissed him for what seemed like a wonderfully long time. He held her tight and felt her other hand moving up his thigh. "Good night, sweetheart," she said finally. "Sweet dreams. If you need anything, just knock."

"Good night, dear."

She disappeared into her room, and after changing his clothes, he laid down, hoping someday he'd follow her into that room.

* * *

He woke up in the night and went to knock on her door. "Christine? Are you still awake?"

"Yes..."

He opened the door and walked in. She stood up from the chair she'd been reading in. Her hair was unbound and flowed over her shoulders and down her back. She'd changed out of her t-shirt and fleece pants into a sheer black negligee with pink bows. "I've changed my mind, dear," he said, closing the door behind him and walking over to her. "I want to sleep in here tonight. And I want you to stay in the bed with me."

She blushed. "What are you saying, sweetheart?"

"I'm saying," he replied, taking her in his arms, "that I love you, and I want to make love to you." He slipped the straps of her nightie off her pale shoulders and fingered the little bow between her breasts.

"Oh, Spencer!" she cried softly. "I love you, too!"

He kissed her passionately, as he lifted the negligee up over her head and tossed it aside. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he kissed her neck and shoulders and on down to her breasts, and delighted in her little moans and cries.

He stood up and slowly removed first his shirt then his pants, and watched her smile and blush as she watched him. Then he leaned over her and pulled her panties down her shapely legs and tossed them over his shoulder. "You won't be needing these tonight."

"Oh, Spencer, my darling, my sweetheart! How I've longed for you, for all these years!" she exclaimed.

He spread her legs wide and mounted the bed to kneel between them. Just as he prepared to ravish her, he heard a crash.

"GODDAMMIT!"

He sat up, startled. He was on the couch, fully clothed, and the morning light filled the room.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Did I wake you? I was trying to get some coffee and I dropped my favorite mug!" He felt for his glasses and put them on. He could see her in the small kitchen, still in her 4-H camp t-shirt and race car pants. "You want some? Just don't come in here. There're shards of this everywhere. Dammit! I loved that mug. Well, so long, Whispering Death..."

"Whispering Death?"

"Yeah..." She was sweeping and stooped down to collect the broken pieces in a dust pan. "It had a Mac-10 on it." She dumped the pieces in the garbage. "I've never owned nor fired one, but I always felt badass drinking from that mug." She sighed. "Oh well. This tile floor is lovely until you drop something on it..." She got another mug and poured some coffee in it. She brought it to him with a spoon and sugar bowl. He pulled the blanket carefully around his waist so she wouldn't notice his condition. "Did you sleep well?"

"Oh, yes, just fine."

"You must have had some sweet dreams. You were smiling when I first walked into the room."

"Was I?" he asked, holding the coffee up to his face. "I don't recall."

"Yeah. It was cute. You've always had the nicest smile." She pinched his cheek like a child's and went back to the kitchen. "Bathroom's all yours if you want it. I've already had my shower." She was pulling out the vacuum.

"Actually, that sounds great." He set his coffee down and stood up, careful to hold the towel she'd left for him low in front and walked swiftly to the bathroom. Locking the door behind himself, he stripped, then jumped when he heard a knock.

"Spencer? Hope you don't mind I took the liberty of throwing your clothes in with my wash. I just got them out of the dryer, if you want."

"Thanks, just...just leave them on the sofa, please." He stepped in the shower and turned on the water. He closed his eyes as the water fell on his face. Soon, however, it became evident that the shower alone would not be enough to alleviate his situation. It was frustrating to him that he still found her so attractive even in an old t-shirt and unisex pants. _What did she think would happen to me this morning, seeing her walk about braless in a threadbare shirt?_ He tried to be rational. She was just being comfortable in her own home. And he had nothing to be ashamed of- after all, he was a young man, and his physiological reaction was perfectly normal and healthy. He leaned on one hand against the side of the shower and reached down with the other. He imagined it was her hand, and soon had to bite his lip to stifle his groans. He grasped the small hand bar beside him when he felt his knees go week. As his orgasm subsided, he took a few slow, deep breaths and removed the hand shower from its mount to rinse off both himself and the wall before finishing his shower. The idea of her discovering that he'd been masturbating in her shower horrified him.

When he went to the living room to retrieve his own clothes he heard her voice behind him asking, "Feeling better now?"

"Um...what?"

"After your shower. You seemed a little jumpy when you woke up. I suppose that's my own clumsy fault, though."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I feel...much more relaxed now."

"Hope you like muffins. I had some bananas to use up. Need a warm up on your coffee?"

"Sounds great. On both accounts."

She took his cup and topped it off. Returning with it, she sat down with him on the couch and asked, "So, um, after I went to bed last night I was up thinking about something. It kind of bothered me, so I want to just come out and ask you- when you came over last night, what were you thinking was going on between us? I don't mean between Geoff and I. I know what you thought about that. I mean between you and I."

She had a way, when she was speaking seriously, of looking at a person over the tops of her glasses. And though he knew she was so nearsighted she couldn't possibly see him well when she did this, it made her gaze seem more penetrating and frankly, unnerving. He swallowed hard and began, "Well, I was thinking...that...that I wanted to see you. And I was hoping you might be happy to see me, too." She said nothing, but kept her face emotionless and her eyes fixed on him. "And...I was thinking...or maybe I was hoping...you see, when you kissed me that first time, I...I've never done that before. And you held my arm, and you held my hand...then you started calling me sweetheart." She still said nothing, and now he felt his words spilling out faster. "And maybe that didn't mean to you what it meant to me, Christine, but I can assure you, that for me, those actions were very serious and meaningful. I've always cared for you. I've always thought you were a remarkable woman since the first time I met you. I thought, and I had hoped, you felt the same way towards me, that this was the start of a meaningful relationship. I thought," his voice became more timid now, "that you were my girlfriend. I know I certainly wanted you to be, anyway." He sat for a moment looking at the coffee in his hands, expecting to hear he'd foolishly misjudged the situation and waiting to have his hopes dashed.

He felt her hand on his cheek, turning his face to hers. "You silly, ridiculous, brilliant fool," she said with a smile. "I've been your girlfriend from the day we met. I can't believe it took you so long to figure it out." She leaned in to kiss him when they heard a ding from the kitchen. "Ooh! Muffins are ready!"

She jumped up and hurried into the kitchen to take them out of the oven. As she taking off her oven mitts, he came silently up behind her and put his arms around her waist. "What on earth are you doing?" she teased.

"I'm only doing what any boyfriend would do to the girl he loves," he said, as he pressed his lips to her neck.

She turned around and looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "You _love_ me? Oh, you poor, unfortunate boy. You don't know what you're getting yourself into." She put her arms around his neck. "God help you, I love you, too." She kissed him, then turned him around and swatted his behind. "Now go sit. There are muffins to be had while they're still warm!"

They sat in the living room and she turned on the TV. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to avoid conversation, I just always like to have some noise in the background. Makes me feel less lonely."

"I'm here," he offered.

"No shit!" she exclaimed with mock surprise. "Still. It's my thing. So I'm nuts. I'm used to the noise. Deal."

After a moment, which she spent flipping through different news channels, he asked tentatively, "So...what do we do now?"

"After breakfast? I dunno. I could give you a ride home, if you want to change. Other than that, I hadn't thought on it much. We could catch a matinee. There's not much in the theaters right now I'm willing to pay full price for. I haven't been bowling in forever. Oh! Or laser tag! Ever done that? Dang, boy, you totally should. You'd love it!"

He smiled and shook his head. "No, I mean with us. Our relationship."

"'Our relationship'. Ugh," she rolled her eyes. "You sound like a chick when you talk like that. What is there to say?"

"Well, where do we go from here? If we love each other, what are our next steps?"

"Exactly what do you want me to say, Spencer? Would you like us to sit down with a calendar and start planning our futures out? Are you expecting us to have a timeline that dictates when we'll start having sex, then when we'll start spending the night at one another's place? Shall we also draw up an agreement delineating how much clothing each of us is allowed to store in the other's closet? Then, when shall we each meet the families? And where shall we cohabitate and upon what terms? How will we manage funds, save for retirement and decide who has to change who's diaper when we arrive at a predetermined retirement facility? I don't know these things, Spencer! And frankly, I don't want to. Look," she said, setting her muffin down and taking his hand. "All I know is that right now, I love you. That's it. And that's all I want to know and to enjoy right now. But, if you feel the need to plan every detail of the future out," she added, dropping his hand and gesturing, "feel free to go find the girl who'll do it with you. There's the door. Don't let it smack you in the ass on the way out." She sat back and stuffed the rest of her muffin in her mouth.

After a moment he ventured, "Will I get slapped if I tell you you're cute when you get angry?" She elbowed him in the ribs. "You're right. You're right! I want to know the future-"

"But I don't know it!"

"I know. Just give me this- is it alright with you if I tell my friends about you?"

"Sure you wanna do that? Won't dating a professional fuck-up ruin your credibility with the Bureau? I'm willing to bet they'd view you dating a stripper more favorably."

"Perhaps. But I'm willing to take that risk." He smiled.

"Fine by me. Besides, I suspect dating you will provide me with ample material with which to entertain complete strangers."

"You'd better not…"  
"Better not entertain complete strangers? Dude, that's, like, kinda how I pay for this glamorous lifestyle."

"Please don't use my name in your act."

She rolled her eyes and sighed petulantly. "Fine. For now."

"So... _now_ where do we go from here? For the rest of the day, I mean." He smiled.

"That's up to you."

"Well, if you don't mind, I would like that ride home to get some fresh clothes. After that, it's lady's choice."

"Laser tag first. And they have go-karts at the same place. After I'm done kicking your scrawny butt at both, maybe I'll let you buy me some tacos. But just so you know, I can only come out and play until 3:00, maybe 4:00. I've got a show tonight. One of the local clubs had an act drop out due to illness. So I'm the super-secret surprise special guest tonight. You're welcome to come if you want. Should be fun."

"' _Should_ be fun'? Isn't fun the whole point of comedy?"

She chuckled. "Well, see, there are different types of shows. When I'm in a proper theater, I have an audience full of people who know me and paid good money specifically to see me. So they're as invested as I am in having a good show. So people generally behave themselves. Then you have club shows. People are there to have a good time and they've got drink minimums. So as you may imagine they're a little rowdier. Then the really wild shows are the ones when you show up on a Saturday night completely unannounced. They aren't my normal fans and they're usually at least half drunk before I even get on stage. So if they don't like me, or if they decide to impress their friends by trying to be funnier than me, they will have no compunction whatsoever to shout out whatever rude and abusive thoughts that comes to them. And that's when I get to take the gloves off and the show really starts."

He gave her a horrified look. He himself hated public speaking even though the worst treatment he'd ever received was bored looks and silence punctuated by polite coughs. "That sounds terrible! Why would you ever do it?"

"Are you kidding me? It's amazing! First, it's so stimulating. It's a complete rush. You never know what is going to come out of their mouths and you gotta be sharp, man, I mean ready for anything. Then, when you nail the comeback, when you slap them back and the crowd goes wild? When they whistle and cheer and chant your name because of it? There is no drug in the world that can give you a high like that. But I'm guessing you know exactly how that feels."

"Me? No…I'd be totally demoralized if one person even walked out while I was speaking, let alone treated me like that."

"No, that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your job. Me, I wouldn't be able to handle the cruel, gruesome, inhumane things you see people do to their fellow human beings every day. I'd lose my fucking mind. I know you're not a heartless bastard- it disgusts you, too. But that moment when you solve the riddle, when you track the perp to his lair and take him down, you know that you feel that same rush, and in that moment, you feel invincible."

"Unsub."

"What?"

"We call them unsubs, or unknown subjects. And yes. I do know what you mean. I have felt that rush."

"See?" she said, sitting back. "You and I aren't so different after all."

He smiled. "You just love being right, don't you?"

"We have that in common, too. Now finish up your muffins, boy. There is fun to be had today!"

* * *

After the show, he had a hard time to find her again. She had gone to the bar area near the entrance to sign autographs. He waited in the queue until someone grabbed his arm. "Hey man, you don't need to be so polite. You get to go to the front of the line."

"Joe! Hey! I didn't know you were here."

"Yeah, but she texted me you were coming tonight. I got in late because of traffic so I sat in the back of the room. Good thing, too. Someone had to be ready to grab security. But she handled herself pretty well, no?"

"She was great. I almost got up myself when that guy got up on stage, but she gave me a look that told me I'd land in hot water with her if I did."

"You know, I know her better than anyone, and I can assure you of this: first, you're right. She'd have been pissed at you. Second of all, she is fully capable of delivering a tongue-lashing so vicious, so brutal that it can reduce a grown man to tears. But she didn't. She handled it dead-on perfectly."

"I couldn't believe it when she handed him the extra mike!"

"And she hardly had to do anything but egg him on and let him humiliate himself."

"I almost felt sorry for him by the time he sat down."  
"I'm surprised he could sit down after the new asshole she tore him!"

They'd finally pushed their way to where Christine stood. After she finished taking a picture with a fan, she threw her arms around Spencer's neck and planted a long kiss on him while the onlookers cheered.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

"I did. It was great. You were great."

"You don't have to hurry off, right? Please let me finish up here then we'll hang out for a bit, okay?"

She'd signed a few more autographs and greeted a few more fans when they started to hear some booing. Christine struggled to see what it was, climbed up on a chair, and then called out, "You! Yeah, man, you! Get over here! Come on guys, give him some room…"

Spencer turned and saw the man she'd humiliated earlier coming towards them. He expected to her Christine upbraid him severely, but to his surprise, she jumped down from the chair and held out her arms towards him. "C'mere man. Bring it in. Let's hug this one out. We're cool, right? Right? Bitchin'." Then she turned around and said loudly, "Hey, y'all, shut up and listen up. Give Stevie here a hand for being a good sport. It took some kind of courage for him to get up on stage tonight. Granted, his was liquid courage, but it was pretty fucking funny, right?" When they obliged, she asked Joe quietly to give him a CD of her album and had Spencer take a picture of the two of them together before sending him off with, "Hey man, a word to the wise- next time that little voice in your head tells you to try and out-funny a pro, tell that ignorant cocksucker to fuck off and leave it to the person paid to be on stage, okay?" She laughed and slapped him on the back and wished him a good night.

"That was magnanimous of you," Spencer remarked.

"Eh, the poor guy suffered enough for one night. Hell, I'd have offered to buy him a beer, but I think he's had enough already."

After the rest of the crowd faded off into the night, she said, "Well, shall we head out then?"

"Yes," Joe and Spencer answered simultaneously.

"Well, look at me, I have two gentlemen to escort me tonight- one tall, handsome and charming and the other, well Joe, not so much. Shall we head to that place across the street?"

As the headed out, Spencer took her hand and said, "I didn't know you had an album out. I'm impressed."

"Almost two. We just did a live record last week and should have it out this summer."

They ducked into a pub. It was loud, so they took a table in a corner to chat.

"Either of you want food?" Joe asked.

"Not me," Christine answered. "I'm just gonna have one beer and be done with it. I was overheard a conversation earlier, just before the show. My heart was telling saying it wanted hot wings and pizza, but my jeans answered, 'For God's sake, woman, give us a freaking salad!'"

"Christine, you look great just the way you are," Spencer said. Then he laughed and added, "although, if you were that concerned about it, maybe you shouldn't have made those muffins while I was in the shower this morning." The looks on both of their faces made him realize how what he'd just said sounded, and he instantly wished he could take it back.

Joe looked from him to her to him again and said, "Whoa. Wait. What? Did I just hear what I think I heard?"

"It's not what you thi-" Spencer started.

"Oh no. It's exactly what I think it is. You two spent the night together!"

"Yes, but, on the couch! I slept on the couch!"

"It's true, Joseph. He came by last night with flowers, had two glasses of wine, and fell asleep. On the couch. Like a perfect gentleman."

"Lightweight. Listen, man, lemme explain to you how this works," he said, putting an arm around Spencer's shoulders. "She's a beautiful woman, right? You care about her, right? Now, I know your father probably never had this talk with you, but when a young man reaches a certain age and hair starts to grow in strange places, he may meet a girl who makes funny things start to happen to his-"

"Joseph!" Christine exclaimed, leaving over and smacking her brother on the side of his head. "Leave him alone, you pig."

Spencer was relieved when their waitress brought over their drinks just then, giving him the chance to hide his embarrassment behind a beer bottle for a moment. This siblings' conversation was, as always, lively, jovial, and occasionally good-naturedly contentious. He couldn't find much to say, except when addressed directly. But it was pleasant to listen to them tease and laugh nevertheless.

When they finished their drinks and left, Joe went to get his car, giving them a moment alone. As they stood waiting for him, Christine reached into his coat pocket and squeezed his hand. "So you had a good time?"

"Yes. Of course I did. Except for that one moment of sheer terror when I thought your brother might punch me because he thought I'd taken advantage of you, it was great."

"Nah, he'd never do that. He likes you too much."

He put his arm around her and leaned down to press his lips to hers. "I meant it, you know- what I said earlier. I love you."

"I love you, too," she replied, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head against his chest. She was shivering a little. There was a chill in the air.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yeah, if your boss will let you come out and play. But don't call too early."

"How early is too early?"

"At this point…anytime before noon."

They stood for a moment quietly until Joe pulled up. She turned to get in the car then turned back. "Come on. Get in. He can give you a ride, too."

"No, that's alright. I'll take a cab."

"Really, man, it's no trouble at all," Joe called.

"Thanks, but no. It's late and my place is out of the way. But thanks!" He waved to both as they drove off. In truth, he was relieved. He didn't relish the though of being alone with Joe and having to answer his uncomfortably personal questions.


	4. Chapter 4

Spencer never did get an opportunity to introduce Christine as his girlfriend. May and June proved to be busy, which was typical for him. And while she had said she planned on taking the summer off herself, in addition to spending a lot of time at the farm overseeing the renovations and landscaping, she had flown both to New York and LA to appear on late night talk shows to promote her album sales and her upcoming tour. She had also stayed in New York for a few weeks to play the clubs and work out some new material for the fall. He had to admit that when he spoke to her during this time, she seemed reenergized and giddily happy. Of course she did. She loved her work. He had fallen into a pleasant routine of spending time with her whenever he was free from work; when he knew she was out of town, however, the prospect of returning home from a case, or even leaving the office after a day of paperwork and research seemed terribly lonely to him. Morgan and JJ teased him on these occasions, telling him he really needed to find a girlfriend, so he would have someone other than stacks of files and books to spend the night with. He never knew quite how to explain that he had, and that it was her absence that kept him late at work. At these times he'd smile bashfully and try to change the subject. On some level he knew she'd been right- who would believe him if he said he, of all people, not only did in fact have a girlfriend, but that she was out of town telling jokes for money? They'd never believe it, or if they did, would think he'd lost his mind. But when she was home, it was like no time had passed. They had lovely dinners and silly afternoons. Inevitably, they'd end up back at her place or his, curled up on the sofa, paying more attention to one another's kisses than whatever was on the TV or stereo. He lived for these sweet moments, but he wanted more. He desperately wanted to have sex with her, but he never knew how to approach the subject with her. What would he say? And if she said yes, what would he do? As many times as he'd imagined it, he was sure that when the time came, he'd do something stupid and clumsy to turn her off, if the sight of his skinny, naked self didn't change her mind first. Besides, he reasoned, she had such a forceful personality, if she wanted it, wouldn't _she_ ask _him_? After all, she had kissed him first, not the other way around. It stood to reason that if she had taken that step and still not asked him to sleep with her, maybe that was a message in itself. So he kept himself as busy with work as possible during the days and on the evenings they were together tried to content himself with what they did share, because it was on the nights when he was alone in bed that these thoughts plagued him. And it was at those times he could do nothing other than toss and turn in bed or jump in the shower to relieve himself. She was worth waiting for, but God, how much longer would he have to wait?

* * *

She had planned to spend the last week of June and the first week of July in Illinois to attend her parents' 40th anniversary party and to hang out with her friends at the Taste of Chicago. He'd laughed when she told him; she was clearly more enthusiastic about the later than the former. "Well, yeah," she'd said, when he made this observation. "At the Taste I get to hang with my friends and laugh and eat all day long. When I'm around my parents, I'll just be constantly reminded what a disappointment I am for wasting my education." July 1st that year fell on a Friday; after work he'd ordered take out and ate it in his pajamas, halfway hoping he'd get called back to work soon so he wouldn't have to spend the whole long holiday weekend alone. It had been a hot, suffocatingly humid day, so he turned the air conditioning up and laid down on the sofa after eating to read. He didn't realize he was falling asleep until a knock at the door startled him. He looked out the peephole and saw a hand in front of it. Surprised, he opened the door. "C'mon, don't tell me you were looking out to see who was here? Sheesh, who the hell else would show up this late in the middle of a storm?"

Christine's hair and shirt were wet with the rain he now heard outside. There was a sharp crack of thunder as he ushered her in. "Well, I certainly didn't expect you! What are you doing home? What about the going to the Taste?"

"I already took care of the business I went there for. Good Lord! It's freezing in here. Got a dry shirt I could borrow?" He went to his room and retrieved a shirt he'd originally borrowed from her. She started changing right there in front of him. He quickly turned around.

 _Is she trying to drive me crazy?_ he wondered. _If so, mission accomplished..._

"It's still freakin' cold. I'll never understand why someone raised in a desert wouldn't enjoy the heat." She made herself at home on his couch and wrapped herself in a blanket he'd brought out for himself. "Nice jammies, by the way. Were you planning on sleeping in here tonight or something?"

"It's the humidity I can't stand, and yes. Sometimes I prefer to sleep on the couch. There's better air circulation here when I have the AC on." He sat down beside her and she shared the blanket with him. Looking down into her smiling face, he felt overcome, and pulling her to him, he kissed her passionately. She sighed and rested her head on his chest, her arms around his waist. "So, what business did you have to take care of?"

"Well, there's something I haven't been open with you about. You see, I'm going to be adding another member to the family." She looked up at him.

He stared at her for a moment, trying not to understand what she was implying. His heart felt like it had forgotten how to beat. Then he jumped off the couch, and cried out, "Is that why you're here tonight? To tell me that you're...how long have you known? And who's the father? Because I sure as hell know it isn't me!"

"The father? Him, I've never met. I don't even know his name."

"Then what...what the hell is going on with you, Chris? What were you thinking?" He practically screamed this last. As he stood there staring at her in disbelief, he saw her start to smirk. Then she reached up and grabbed his arm to pull him down again.

"What, you thought I was pregnant, perhaps? Unbunch your man-panties, Spencer and sit down. God knows I have yet to find a man willing to fuck me. So calm down, would you," she implored, unable to keep from chuckling at her own joke and his reaction to it.

"It's hard to remain calm when I'm dating a crazy woman who seems intend upon giving me a goddammed heart attack..."

"Aw, listen to you, cussing like a big boy, now! You make me proud."

"You should be ashamed of yourself," he pouted.

"Yeah, I know. But I'm not. Seriously though, I am adding to my brood." He looked at her dubiously. She laid her head back down against him. "See, there's this girl. Her name is Alex. She's just turned 20. She's actually my aunt's friend's granddaughter. Anyway, her dad's out of the picture and her mom is a complete fuck up- you know, the sort of useless drunk that liked to make herself feel big by beating on her when she was a little kid. To make a long story short, Alex has been living with her grandma for about a year. She dropped out of high school as soon as she turned 16, then took up with some guy before her grandma got her out of that situation. Her grandma's been trying to help her find work, preferably away from Hampshire, because Alex's ex used to smack her around, too." She sighed heavily and continued, "and I had mentioned to my mother once I was looking for someone to help me out once I move into the new place..."

"A housekeeper?"

"Eh, I prefer personal assistant. Anyway, word gets around in small towns like mine, and a while back I got a call from this grandmother. I agreed to sit with the girl and talk. She's actually quite bright. She keeps house for her grandma and helps with the farm. She seems tidy, works hard, loves animals, loves country life, just a real nice girl."

"Why did she drop out?"

"When I asked her, all she actually told me was, 'Because everyone was always telling me I was dumb.' But it took me all of about five minutes of conversation with her to see that wasn't the case."

"So what do you think is really going on with her?"

"Well, I asked her a few questions about basic science, history, things like this. No problem. Then I hit her with some math. When we started to get into things she couldn't work out in her head, that was where she started to fall apart. And that's when the little light bulb went off over my head. So I grabbed a magazine and asked her to read for me. She could handle some of the headlines, and almost nothing else. The poor thing was almost in tears over it."

"And in all her years of school, no one ever told her she was dyslexic?"

"No. Criminal, right? How could trained educators miss for years what you and I figured out in minutes? When I told her what I thought, she'd never even heard the term. And I told her, 'Sweet pea, you're not dumb. You just learn differently.' So I offered her a job, with two conditions. First, that within six months of working for me she has to test for her GED. I told her I'd get her whatever professional help and therapy she needed at my own expense. I told her she didn't even have to pass. But she had to at least make a genuine effort to try."

"That sounds more than reasonable. What's the other condition?"

"She is not to ever let me hear her call herself dumb again. Ever." They sat quietly for a while, listening to the rain. "It won't be much money to start. $1500 a month. But I'll give her free room and board and - hell, I'll have nothing at the new place if not plenty of room and privacy for her - medical, vision and dental. If she works out, after six months I'll give her a raise, life insurance and some kind of retirement plan. I'll have to look into that some more. I think that's fair, right? Not a big paycheck, but she won't really bills...what do you think?"

"What do I think?" he said softly, and putting a hand under her chin to raise her face up to his, "well, if it were anyone else, I might say you were acting rashly, offering a young girl you hardly know a job and a place in your home. But I know you. You know how to read people and find the good in them. And I think she will find in time she'll have become a better person for having had you come into her life."

"Huh. That's usually what happens to me when new people come into my life. But about her remuneration; do you think it's fair?"

"If you're covering her room and board, yes, it's okay to start. You should also cover her moving costs, you know. You'll be bringing her half-way across the country."

"Yes, of course. That's only right. Spencer?"

"Hmm?"

"That's not the only reason why I came back early."

"No?"

"No. After I finished that business, I decided I didn't want to spend the holiday without you."

He simply smiled and kissed her. As he did so, he became aware of her hand moving up his thigh to his waist. "These are some pretty spiffy pajamas, you. Very Ward Cleaver," she teased. "I didn't know gentlemen still wore these. My brothers always slept in t-shirts and their underpants."

He chuckled. "Yes, well, I've always felt I was born about four or five decades too late." He kissed her again and nearly gasped when he felt her hand slide up under his shirt. She hadn't done that to him in months. Her small hand pressed lightly to his belly sent an electric thrill through him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her even closer. Then he shifted in is seat and moved back a bit, embarrassed at the thought of her noticing his growing erection as she kissed his neck and throat down to his collar bone. His lips met hers again in a soft, slow kiss. A loud crack of thunder broke his reverie, and he said, "I hope you're not planning on going back out in this weather tonight, dear. You're welcome to stay here tonight. I was already planning to sleep here on the couch, anyway."

"No, no. If anything, it's my turn on the couch."

"I insist."

"I insist harder! Tonight it's my turn." The tone in her voice told him there was no use arguing with her. It would only make her more adamant.

"I love you, but you are as stubborn as you are crazy. Alright, you can have it. I'll lay out some towels in the bathroom, then. I'm sorry, but I don't have any women's toiletries..."

"Meh, no worries. I always carry the basics in my purse, anyway, in case my luggage gets lost when I'm traveling." She began to braid her long hair.

"Isn't it uncomfortable to sleep with your hair like that?"

"I'm used to it. Besides, it's more uncomfortable to try and detangle it in the morning. Don't suppose you have any shorts or sweats I could borrow?"

"No, not exactly. But let me see what I can find..." He disappeared down the hall and came back with a pair of pajama pants. "They're too long-"

"You don't say..."

"-but the waist should fit you."

She sighed and held them up. "It's a little depressing to think my boyfriend is nearly a foot taller than me and my hips are still bigger. Sometimes, I feel like a fucking Hobbit next to you." Again without warning, she began to unceremoniously pull down her jeans. He quickly turned his head away. As she pulled up the pajama pants he'd given her, she remarked, "There was hardly a need for you to turn around, you know. Not much to see here. Hell, you probably even have prettier panties than me, too."

At a loss for words, he just shook his head. He kissed her and said, "Well, I guess this is good night, then."

"Yeah. Good night to you, too, sweet cheeks."

"If you need anything, I'm right down the hall."

"I know. Thanks. Sweet dreams, Spencer. I love you."

"I love you, too." After kissing her goodnight, he turned and went to his own room. It took him a long time to fall asleep. He tortured himself with the thought that she had been right there, on his sofa with her hands under his clothes, and he'd _still_ been too timid to make a move. Every moment they were apart he thought about how desperately he wanted to be intimate with her. But when they were together, he lost his nerve to make a move towards doing so. Eventually, he tossed and turned until he fell asleep.

* * *

He slept so soundly that he didn't notice when the door opened to his room, let alone when she walked over to the bed and softly said his name. Then she sat on the edge of his bed and shook his shoulder. Startled, he turned onto his back. He blinked a few times and made out her shape in the dim light of the street lamps coming through the curtains.

"Scoot."

"What?" he whispered, confused.

"Scoot over. You don't need to take up the whole bed. Move."

He moved to one side of the bed. As she climbed in, he sat up and asked, "What's going on? Is everything alright?"

"It's too cold under that AC vent." She grabbed one of the pillows, laid down, and pulled the blanket up.

"Um..." He rubbed his face to make sure he was awake and not dreaming again. "so you want to switch places?"

"No. This is fine. Lay down." She curled up on her side and laid her arm over him. "Hey Spencer?"

"Yes?" His mind was racing.

"I love you."

"I love you, too," he answered. His mind began to race. What should he do now? Was she really just there because she was cold, or did this mean something more? He could make a move- kiss her, caress her, something- to try and find out, but if it was nothing and he got aroused again and she realized it, what would she think of him? If it was more...he groaned inwardly. Why had he left the condoms he bought in his messenger bag, out in the living room? How weird would that be, if they got naked and got ready to do it, and then he had to say, _Excuse me, dear. Hold that thought while I run out of the room and down the hall to get a condom_? Wouldn't that ruin the mood? Why, _why_ hadn't he thought to bring them in and put them in his nightstand like any other man would have? It occurred to him he could go get them now, but what would he say to excuse himself? He pondered each of these questions and scenarios for so long that by the time he decided on a course of action he realized she had fallen sound asleep. Her slow, deep, rhythmic breathing made him sure of it. He turned to look at her beside him. When another flash of lightning lit up the room he saw she looked so sweet and peaceful, she hardly seemed real to him. She looked so much like a pretty little doll lying there that he didn't have the heart to disturb her.

He sighed and stared back up at the ceiling. _Well done, Spencer. So much for being a genius,_ he thought.

* * *

He wasn't sure just what woke him up the next morning. He rolled over and reached for her and found...nothing. He sat up and grabbed his glasses. He could see light under the door and presumed she was up making coffee or something. He swung his legs over the side of bed, intending to go out and join her then stopped, listening. She was talking, presumably on the phone; he heard no other voices. He stood and walked to the door. Though he couldn't hear what was being said, it was clear from her tone that she was upset. Not wanting to interrupt her private conversation, he stood by the door until her no longer heard her speaking. When he went out to speak to her, she had dressed and was putting on her shoes.

"Dear," he ask quietly, "is everything alright?"

"No. Sorry. I've got to get out of here. I need to think." And with that, she grabbed her purse and walked out the door.

He went to the window and saw her exit onto the sidewalk and hail a cab. As much as he wanted to know what the matter was, he thought it best to let her cool off a bit and leave her alone. After a shower and some coffee, he tried calling her. It rang three times and went to voice mail. It was then that he began to panic, for she hadn't simply been unable to reach her phone; she intentionally rejected the call because she didn't want to speak to _him_. He drank a second cup of coffee then picked his phone back up to send her a text:

 _Where are you? What's wrong? Something I did?_

Almost 10 agonizing minutes later he received a response.

 _Had to go to the mall. Need to think. No and yes._

 _The mall?_ he wondered. _Why on earth would she go to a mall?_ Even if stores were open at this hour, he knew her well enough to know she was not one who believed in "retail therapy". She found shopping in general and for clothes specifically tedious, frivolous, boring, and usually a waste of her time. He couldn't imagine why she would go to a mall to think. He made some more coffee and wondered what could have happened and what he had done to upset her. Though he hadn't fully seen her face as she was leaving, he had the impression she'd been crying. Finally, he picked up the phone and called Joe.

"Hey, Spencer." He sounded deflated and not at all himself.

"Hey, Joe. Say, do you know what's wrong with Christine?"

"Why, what happened?"

"She was here this morning, then she got a phone call, I think, and left upset. She said she had to go to the mall and think- does that mean anything to you?"

Joe sighed and said, "Well, I'm pretty sure the call came from our mother. And as for the mall, well...if I had to venture a guess, I'd say she didn't go to just any mall, you know?"

"Oh. Okay. No, I don't really know what you mean..."

"You'll figure it out. Listen. It's kind of a rough morning over here. Sorry, but I've got to let you go. I've got some stuff I have to work through myself."

"Yes, of course. Thank you. Sorry to bother you," he said, and hung up. He sat for a moment before it dawned on him what both Chris and Joe meant. He grabbed his keys and ran out to hail a cab. When one stopped, he got in and said, "I need to go to Constitution and 23rd."

When the cab dropped him off at the west end of the National Mall, he looked around. It was a gray, hazy, humid morning, just before 9:00am. There were few tourists around. He began the long climb up steps of the Lincoln Memorial, remembering how she'd always said that of all the presidents, he was the one she admired most, for she believed he understood, as few people ever did, the importance of his own moment in history and what it would mean to the future of all Americans. On Independence Weekend, and on the 142nd anniversary of the second day of Gettysburg, if she wanted to sit and think, this had to be where she was.

He paused for a moment at the top. It was difficult not to be awed by the sight of the Great Emancipator staring down from a height of nearly thirty feet. The handful of tourists there were to the right, reading the Gettysburg Address. He went to the left. He found her sitting cross-legged with her back against the rear column, staring at the Second Inaugural Address. He sat down beside her, and for a long while said nothing.

Finally he said softly, "I'm sorry you're hurting, Christine."

She began to breathe faster, though from anger or sadness, he couldn't tell. At last she said, without turning to him, "You know, I was just there. She knew, and she couldn't even tell me to my face."

"What?"

She hesitated before responding again, and it became clear that she was trying to master herself, to hold back tears. "This morning my mother called to say Grandpa Pete had been admitted to the hospital last night for chest pains. Now, he had a heart attack years ago and he's 87 now, so of course I had a mild freak out. When I asked where he was so I could call, she told me not to do so, because he was fine, he was already being discharged, and that he needed his rest once home. So I said, that's cool. I'll just call you later to see how he's doing. And she said not to do that either, because she was going to be gone most of the day and wouldn't be feeling well when she got home. So I'm like, why, you know? And she said, oh, you know...that biopsy I had came back positive, so I'm getting that taken care of."

"Biopsy?"

"Now, several times, when my mother had mammograms, they'd find a spot. She'd have a needle biopsy, and it always came back negative. The last time was two weeks ago." Now she turned to him. "Two. Weeks. Spencer, it takes one week to get the results. Which means that the whole damned time I was there she _knew_ she had cancer. And she didn't even have the decency to tell me to my face. Hell, if Grandpa wasn't sick, I probably still wouldn't know. Joe knew. I called him, and he'd known for days. He just assumed I knew, too. Well guess what? Once again, just like always, the old bat didn't give a damn about me. Not what I think. Not how I feel. She had four kids she wanted and planned for and loved. I'm just the late-in-life accident that happened to fuck everything up for her."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"No! That is precisely the situation." She turned her face back towards the inscription. As hard as she tried to set her face like stone, she couldn't control her hands which shook as they rested on her knees.

"What's the prognosis?" he ventured.

"Excellent. Caught it early while the tumor's in situ. They'll do a lumpectomy, take a few lymph nodes to be safe, give her a couple rounds of radiation and she'll be fine."

"Well, that's good then!"

"Yep." She sat still for a long moment, then he watched her face crumple and she began to sob. "What's wrong with me, Spencer? Why is it, that I can get on stage and people...they applaud, the cheer, they wanna meet me. Complete strangers...they like me! But the people I want to love me the most, can't. You know, I can't remember my own mother ever telling me she loved me. I know she sure as hell has never told me she was proud of me. When I asked her this morning, 'Mom, why didn't you tell me?' She said, 'Why should I?' I said, 'Because I love you. Because I'm your daughter and I deserve to know.'" She paused and wiped her nose with the back of her hand like a child then turned to him. "You know what she said? 'What difference would it make telling you? You can't do anything. You're not a doctor!'"

He reached in his pocket and offered her a tissue to blow her nose with. She sat crying for a moment into the tissue before continuing. "Then there's you..."

" _Me_? What about me?"

"You told me you want me to be your girlfriend, and you tell me you love me...but you can't even stand to touch me!"

"What are you talking about?" he asked incredulously.

"Last night, on the couch, when I tried to touch you, you moved away. You couldn't stand to look at me when I changed. Hell, I even got in bed with you and you wanted nothing to do with me. I mean, am I that ugly? That unattractive and unappealing? I just..." she wiped her nose again and said, "You know what? I can't do this any more. I...I need to get out of here."

With that she jumped up and ran out of the chamber and down the steps. He was so dumbfounded by what she'd just said he only stared after her for a moment before getting to his own feet and running after her.

She was fast, but his legs were longer and he caught her midway down. Grabbing her arm, he stopped her and said, "Now you stop and listen to me and listen well, because you are being completely unfair. I'm sorry your mother hurt you. But don't you dare project your feelings toward her onto me. You think you know everything. You think that because your IQ is four points higher than mine you know me better than I know myself. But woman, you have no idea how much you don't know. Because while I may not be able to read your mind, I'm damn sure you can't read mine. Last night, you know why I pulled away from you on the couch? It's because when you touched me like that I got a hard on, and I was embarrassed that you might find out and think I was a creep. When I averted my eyes, it was because as badly as I wanted to look at your body, I respect you even more, and I would never want you to think I only care about your body. And last night in bed, I was laying there kicking myself for having left the condoms I'd bought in the living room and trying to figure out a way to go and get them that didn't seem too awkward. And might I remind you, madam," he said leaning in to stare her in the eye, their noses just inches apart, "that by the time I figured out my next move, you had fallen asleep. Not me. You. And you looked so beautiful in that moment, as desperately as I wanted to make love to you- as I have always wanted- I couldn't bear to wake you and disturb the loveliest sight I've even seen."

She stood staring back at him, her mouth agape. Suddenly he pulled her to him and kissed her, deeply and passionately. When he finally released her, he sunk his fingers into her hair, and holding her forehead to his he said, "Now, I'm going to take you home. You need to rest, relax and calm down. Think about what I've said to you. Because god know I want to have sex with you. But I will not do it just because you're upset and I'm horny. I'm going to go back to my place and find a nice pretty bed and breakfast for us. I will make reservations for next weekend so I can take you there and we can do this properly, so that our love making will only be about you and me and our love for one another. Nothing else. You love to boss me around and always get your way, but this is how it is going be, understand? I will call you tomorrow with my plans, so don't you dare pick up a gig at the last minute. Because I know you love to be the center of attention, but we have put this off long enough. I've been waiting for you to let me know you're ready for a sexual relationship. Now that you've told me, I'm telling you that you are done playing with me. This is not a game any more, and I will get what I want for a change, got it? Now, come on. Let's go."

He took her hand and led her down the steps. When they reached the bottom she said timidly, "Spencer?"

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry. Will you buy me breakfast?"

"Yes, dear."

"Spencer?"

"Yes?"

"I want waffles."

"Alright."

"And bacon."

"Okay."

"And I want tea. But only Earl Grey."

"I'll make sure they have your tea."

"Spencer?"

"Yes?"

"I just got my way again."

"You, my dear, are incorrigible."

* * *

A/N added 4/29/2016

The National Mall (or simply "The Mall") is a large area within Washington, DC that is bordered by the US Capital Building on the East and the Lincoln Memorial on the West. It is home to many monuments and memorials to American presidents and war veterans. The Lincoln Memorial is often seen prominently in movies and television shows set in DC. If you've seen Forrest Gump, for example, or footage of Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech, you've seen the Lincoln Memorial. The Lincoln Memorial is located by the intersection of Constitution and 23rd Avenues.


	5. Chapter 5

Saturday found Christine wistfully thinking of Chicago. If she hadn't returned to DC early, today she'd eat her way through the Taste, sprawl out on a blanket in Grant Park with old friends to digest, then wander down to the museum campus and camp out by the Planetarium and wait to watch the fireworks over the lake, timed to go off to the live music of the Grant Park Orchestra. She'd wind up sunburned, sweaty and stuffed, but she'd be having fun. She hadn't yet made any real buddies in DC with whom to have times like that. Almost everyone she'd met at Georgetown had moved on. And she had yet to find rib tips, turtle soup, fried alligator and sautéed goat meat in DC like could get back there.

She smiled to herself. She didn't regret her decision to come back, though. She had Spencer, and they'd finally come to an understanding on how to proceed with their relationship. So she fixed herself a plate of stinky cheeses, olives, tomatoes and crusty bread to pick at while she hung out on her couch and read Foote's _Civil War: A Narrative_. Volume two was always apropos on a day like today.

In the afternoon, her phone rang. It was him. She smiled and giggled for a ring or two and answered.

"Hey, you!"

"Hey, baby doll."

 _Baby doll? That's a new one,_ she thought. "Happy Independence Eve."

"Same to you. I was calling to ask if you wanted to go with me to the Mall tomorrow. I thought we could catch the parade and fireworks together."

She made a face. She was expecting news of a different sort. She wondered if he'd changed his mind about the next weekend. Nevertheless, she said, "Yeah. Of course. I'd love to! Provided we can hit the Archives and Smithsonian, too."

"You know how I am in tight crowds," he hesitated. "But if it's what you want, then let's go. We'll have the whole Jefferson Smith experience."

"Aw! You remembered!"

"Yes, I remember the movies you like."

"Okay, then…when would you like to meet?"

"I'll be at your place at 9:30am. Bear in mind the security will be tight…"

"Right. Free cavity searches for all on the Mall, courtesy of Uncle Sam!"

"Just leave your switch blades and plastic explosives at home, that's all."

"You're no fun."

"I work for the federal government. I'm not allowed to be fun."

She chuckled. "Alright. Well…I guess I'll see you then," she said, trying not to sound disappointed that he hadn't said more.

"Baby doll, aren't you forgetting something?"

"Like what?"

"You haven't asked me when I'll be picking you up on Friday or how to pack. Because we will be gone for a few days, you know."

Her heart did a somersault in her chest. She tried to play cool. "Oh? I thought maybe something had come up, or that you'd changed your mind."

"No. I most certainly have not changed my mind. We've got a suite reserved at a place on an estate in Virginia, 57 miles outside the city. They'll seat us for dinner at 7:00, so you'll need to dress nicely for that as well as for the next evening, because we're staying until Sunday. As for the rest of the time, frankly, I don't care what you wear. Or if you wear anything at all, for that matter."

She was speechless. He never spoke to her like this. Well, except for yesterday. _This is finally going to happen!_

"Christine, are you still there?"

"Yes. I'm still here," she answered softly.

"Be ready to leave by 5:30pm on Friday, then. We don't want to miss dinner. I suspect we'll need some energy for rest of the evening. At least you will, anyway. I doubt anything could wear me out when I'm with you."

"I'll be ready, Spencer." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow. Until then. I love you, Christine."

"I love you, too. Bye."

"Good bye."

After hanging up, he sat back in his chair a smiled to himself. He'd spent all morning working on that little speech and trying to work up the nerve to deliver it. Her speechlessness told him he'd succeeded. Meanwhile, as he sat congratulating himself on finding the courage to talk to her so boldly, she was running around her apartment grabbing her sunglasses, putting on her flip-flops, hunting for her keys, running out the door, and running back up to grab the purse she'd forgotten. They were going to be spending a whole weekend together, and she needed to find some fancy matching underwear to wear!

* * *

Monday morning, Spencer strode into work with cup of coffee and a smile. It was enough to draw Morgan's attention. He walked over and leaned on Spencer's desk. "Hey, Pretty Boy. You've got a little pride in your stride this morning. Have a good weekend?"

"Most definitely," he replied nonchalantly, flipping through a file on his desk.

"Oh really?" He grinned broadly. "So tell me, what could put such a smile on a young genius' face? You find someone to play doctor with?"

Spencer leaned back in his chair and looked up at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Alright. Alright. So what was it then? Catch a weekend long Star Trek marathon? Go to a comic book convention?"

"Why, was there one in town? I wasn't aware."

"Come on. Something happened. You can't hide it from me. You know I'll find out."

"Well, if you must know, I spent the weekend very patriotically. A friend and I toured the National Mall, the Smithsonian, saw the parade, the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns, heard the concert at the Washington Monument and saw the fireworks last night."

Morgan was visibly disappointed. "Fine. Have it your way. But something happened. You have a…glow about you."

"That would be from all the time I spent out in the sun yesterday."

"Right. Keep it up. I'll find out eventually." He reached out and tousled Spencer's hair.

"Good luck. It's the truth," he said, swatting away his friend's hand with annoyance.

* * *

When Wednesday arrived Morgan arrived to find Spencer already at desk. He snuck up behind him, bent over and said in his ear, "Happy Hump Day, Reid."

Spencer, who had at that very moment had been taking a sip from his mug, jumped in his chair and began coughing.

"Haha! Gotcha!"

"Jerk," was all Spencer could say as he reached for some tissues to mop up the coffee he'd spat on his desk.

Morgan turned to go to his own desk. "You know you like it. Who else could bring such excitement and spontaneity to your lonely little OCD lifestyle?"

"Believe me, I get more than my fair share of that."

"Oh you do, do you?"

"You'd better believe it."

"Yeah, well, when was the last time you went out and totally-"

"Boys," JJ interrupted, handing them each a file. "Do _not_ let me catch you pulling them out and measuring them here. You're lives are about to get equally exciting. Conference room. Now."

Spencer watched her leave and asked Morgan, "What did she think we were going to measure?"

Morgan just rolled his eyes.

 _Please be local. Please be local. Please be local_ , Spencer wished, looking at the file in his hands. He opened it. _Son of a bitch!_

Later that night, he called her from his hotel room in Cincinnati.

"Hey you! I was just thinking of you! How's your day been? I hope you're not as tired as you sound…"

"Yeah, well, it's been a long day."

"Then I promise I won't keep you up too late. You'll need to rest up before this weekend."

He sighed. "You're right. Looks like I'm going to have a very long weekend here in Cincinnati."

There was silence on the other end for a moment. He winced. "Oh," she said finally. "You've got a case."

"Yes."

"Is there _any_ chance you might get back by the weekend?"

"Realistically? No."

More silence.

"Baby doll, I am so sorry."

"No, don't be." Now it was her turn to sigh. "I understand."

"I haven't changed my mind, dear. You have to believe me."

"I do. I do! Really. It's alright. I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed, but I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I knew this was too good to be true."

He fell back on his bed and groaned. "No, don't say that! I want this as badly as you do, Chris! Maybe even more, in fact. I need you to believe that."

"I do. It's just…what I mean is that I knew something would come up to spoil our plans, simply because they were way too perfect."

"Look. As soon as I get back, I'll make new reservations for that weekend. I promise."

"No. Don't do that."

"No?" _Is she that upset she's giving up on me?_ he wondered.

"Do not make any promise to me that both you and I know you may not be able to keep."

Relieved, he told her, "Okay, how about this: I promise that I will do my very best to make the next time we do have to spend together as meaningful and memorable as possible. How's that?"

"I can deal with that."

"Also, I promise you that I love you."

"Aw, you big softie. I love you, too, sweetheart."

"Good night, Christine."

"Good night. Sweet dreams."

He closed his phone and sat up to put it on the night table. He sat there for a moment then turned and punched the pillow on his bed in frustration. He stood up and stretched. He really needed a shower now.

* * *

The following Wednesday they wrapped up the case. He wanted to call that night and tell Christine the good news, that he'd be heading home Thursday morning, but she'd been asked to fill in for another comic at the Improv that night and had taken the gig, so there was no point- she was scheduled to go on stage at 7:00pm and again at 10:00 and would not be answering her phone in between. She wouldn't answer it until after noon the next day, for that matter. So he decided just to wait until they got back to Quantico to let her know he was back.

At the airport, as they waited for the jet to be readied, he browsed a newsstand and bought a copy or the Washington Post. He sat down with the others, half listening and occasionally responding to the conversation as he ran his finger down the columns. He laid each section aside as he finished it until he got to the bottom half of the front page of the entertainment section where his finger stopped. He was unaware for a moment that he'd been asked a question, and that, because he failed to respond, the others were exchanging bemused glances around him.

"Woo-hoo…Spencer…" JJ called.

He looked up. "I'm sorry. What?"

"What's got you so interested all of a sudden?" Morgan asked, taking the paper out of his hands to see what Spencer had been pointing to. "'Comedian attacked at Improv,'" he read aloud. "'Wednesday night, DC-based comedian Chris Arcangeli was attacked while on stage by a patron of popular DC comedy club, The Improv.' Where have I heard that name before?"

"I know, it's familiar," said JJ. "Wait. I know. Isn't she the one with the, you know, the really big, curly red hair? She was on Letterman like three weeks ago, wasn't she? Or am I thinking of someone else?"

"No, you're right. That's her," Spencer said, trying not to let on how shaken he was.

"Oh yeah, now I know who you're talking about. I saw her. She was pretty funny. Who knew she was local? And who knew the Doc had a sense of humor? There might be hope for you yet, kid. I get why you like her though. She's got a _lot_ of talent. Two of 'em, in fact."

"Morgan!" JJ scolded.

"What? I'm just sayin'. She's a very beautiful lady. With a really, really nice rack."

"You guys are unbelievable."

"The kid's on my side on this one. I've seen him looking." He continued reading, "'According to witnesses, the patron, Ray Chasteen, 28, of Bethesda, appeared to be intoxicated throughout the performance. After yelling out a homophobic slur, Ms. Arcangeli stepped to the front of the stage to confront the man. It was at this time that, after a brief exchange, Chasteen allegedly grabbed the comic's ankle, causing her to fall and suffer multiple injuries. She was transported to George Washington University Hospital and is said to be in good condition. In a phone interview, Ms. Arcangeli's brother and manager, Joe Arcangeli, told AP Wednesday night, "He [Chasteen] pulled her leg out from under her and made her lose her balance. As she went down, she tried to break her fall by putting out her right arm. She hit her head on the stage pretty hard, too. Right now, they're taking x-rays, but it seems as though her wrist is broken and she probably has a concussion. Because of the head injury, she couldn't really walk after it happened, but she was saying her ankle hurt too, so maybe that's sprained, as well."' Damn. Who knew it was more dangerous to be a comedian than a member of the BAU?"

The rest chuckled as Morgan handed the paper back to Spencer. As for him, he was beside himself with worry and furious with the drunken jackass who had the audacity to lay a hand on the woman he loved. He was desperate to find a private place to make a call, but just then they got word the jet was ready and it was time to leave. It was going to be an unbearably long flight.

When they landed, Hotch told them all to go home and get some rest. None of them did. A few hours later, when Morgan, JJ and Garcia were discussing grabbing some dinner after work, they looked over to Reid to see if he was interested in coming with. It was the first time they realized he was the only one of them who hadn't gone back to his desk.

* * *

After leaving the others at Quantico, Spencer walked to the metro station and dialed Joe's number.

"Hey, Spencer. I've been meaning to call you…"

"Oh? You were? What about? Perhaps to tell me my girlfriend is in the hospital? Did it finally occur to you that I might be interested in hearing about that?"

"Hey man, don't yell at me. She's your girlfriend but she's also my sister, and I've had a helluva night dealing with this."

"Apparently, you had enough time to call the AP. I guess I just don't rank as high as the press on your list of importance."

"That's bullshit and you know it. The truth is, she asked me not to call you because _she_ thinks your work is important and _she_ didn't want me to interrupt you. Had it been up to me, I'd have made sure your scrawny ass was on the next flight out of Cincinnati, because _I_ think your place is with her right now."

"Yeah, well, I found out at the airport this morning. Congratulations, you two made the Post. I've just left Quantico and am about to get on the Metro. I'll meet you at the hospital."

"No, reroute yourself. She's being discharged. Just meet us back at her place. I'm going to need the help getting her upstairs. She's got a sprained ankle and her mental state is…well, you'll see soon enough. Suffice it to say, she really got her bell rung."

"Will do. See you soon."

He was pacing in front of her building when their cab pulled up. As Joe paid the driver, Spencer ran to her side and helped her out. "Oh, Spencer! Hey, baby! Where'd you come from? Joe! Yo, Joe! Check it out! Spencer's here!" She was slurring her words and seemed to be having trouble focusing her eyes.

Joe came around and grabbed her under the other arm. Behind her head, Spencer asked, "What the hell have they got her on? They can't give her opiates to someone with a head injury!"

"I know. It's ibuprofen! That's it! A high dose of ibuprofen and an antibiotic, because they had to put stitches in her scalp. Now do you get why I needed the help?"

"Spencer! Hey, I got stitches! Six of 'em. When I hit my head, and came to, I touched it and I could touch my own skull. How wild is that?"

"Pretty wild, dear. Come on, now. Let's get you upstairs."

At the foot of the staircase inside, Joe asked, "So how are we gonna work this?"

"Spencer can carry me! He can do it, and I know, because he looks really skinny, but he's actually got, uh…what the hell was I saying? Arms! He's got really sexy arms."

"Chris, leave him alone, he can't-"

"No, it's okay Joe. I've got her. You go up first and open the door. Ready, baby doll?"

"Yes, sir!"

He picked he up and started up the stairs. "You're really hot, you know? I mean, like, really hot. Did I ever tell you that, Spencer?"  
"Now you're just being silly."

"Hey! Watch my head! Hey, did I tell you I got stitches? Right in my scalp."

"Yeah, I heard."

"There was a lot of blood. It was wild."

"Could you feel your own skull?"

"Yeah! I could. Hey- how did you know that?" They reached her door and Christine called, "I'm hoooome! Take me to my bed, my good man! Joseph! Is Joe here? Hey Joe! There you are. Bring me my TV and be quick about it. Chop chop!"

Spencer laid her on her bed and asked, "Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?"

"I wouldn't mind some stronger drugs. I've got a helluva headache. Hey! Did I show you? I've got a cast! Pretty cool, huh? They asked me if wanted a pink one because I'm a chick, but I was like, screw that! Pink is for sissies. So I got green instead! Looks good, right? I think it's badass. Wanna sign it?"

"Sure. Do you have a marker?"

"Joseph!" she screamed. "Oh. Sorry. There you are. Put it right there on the dresser, and then go get a Sharpie off my desk, please."

Joe returned with the marker and handed it to Spencer. As he was signing her cast she said, "You're really hot, you know? Joseph! Thank you, good sir, for your service. You are dismissed."

"Whatever you say, master."

As Joe turned to leave, Spencer said, "Actually, before you go, can I talk to you?"

"Yeah, sure."

Spencer followed him into the living room and said, "Wow. So what did the doctor say about…that?" he hooked his thumb toward the bedroom.

"Just that the MRI showed minimal swelling that should be resolved within 24-48 hours, and that by that time the speech, mental confusion, and double vision should disappear."

"Have you spoken with your father?" He remembered the elder Dr. Arcangeli was a neurologist.

"Yes. He concurs. He was concerned as a father but as a physician, not so much. I spoke to him last about an hour ago. He'd seen her MRIs and wasn't overly worried by them. I asked him about her loopiness because she was not acting _that_ weird last night. He was of the opinion that it was the result of the swelling increasing overnight, that that was normal, and that it was being exacerbated by her lack of sleep. She always gets goofy when she's tired."

"So how did this happen? Where was security?"

"They were at the back of the room with me. But this jackass was down in front. He was talking throughout the show, which I could see was irritating her, but when she got to that bit about Scientology, this guy shouts out something like, 'Tom Cruise is a cocksucking faggot,' which set her off. Because you know as well as I do she's not his biggest fan, but she won't put up with bigots at her show. So she walked up to him and asked him leave, then ordered him to leave, then told me over the mic to give him his money back and have security toss him, and while she took her eyes off him to look at me, that's when he grabbed her. She went down like…God, that sound! I could _hear_ her wrist break. I can still hear it. Then all hell broke loose. The people at his table got him off her before security could even get to the stage. I just went to her. And then there were cops and paramedics…it was nuts."

"I hope she's pressing charges."

"Fuck yeah! Are you kidding me? They've charged him with a class B felony, and I have the whole thing on tape. I hope they tack on a few years for sex charges."

"Well, they won't do that just because of a slur that wasn't directed at her."

"I'm not talking about that. I heard people say that he was saying something like, 'You mouthy cunt, you're probably a dyke yourself. You need a man like me to rape you straight.'"

His mouth fell open. "What?" He was furious.

"That's what they were telling me while the paramedics were with her. I didn't hear it myself, but…"

"No, if they can get witnesses to testify to that in court, that's definitely something that will be considered at sentencing. Anyway," he said with a sigh, "go home, Joe. I'm glad you were there for her. I'll keep an eye on her tonight."

"Yeah, so am I. Thanks man. Her meds and discharge papers are in her purse. Take care of her."

"I will. Drive safely."

"Thanks. Bye."

Spencer shut the door after him and went back to her room. She had propped herself up in bed and had the remote in her hand. She looked over at him. "Sit," she commanded. "Look! Judge Judy is on! I love her. Damn, I wish I had her job. Did you know she makes, like, $40 million a year? I shoulda gone to law school."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took the remote out of her hand so he could hold it. "How are you feeling, baby doll?"

"Why did you start calling me that?"

"Because you said I could call you whatever I wanted. And that's what you looked like asleep in my bed."

"Oh. Oh yeah. That happened, too. But we missed our weekend together," she said, pushing out her bottom lip. "Did Joe leave? We could do it now, you know."

"No, we can't. You have to be in pain right now, and you're not thinking clearly."

"Not that much pain," she said, letting go of his hand and tugging playfully at his waistband.

He caught hold of her hand again. "No, baby. Not now. Not until you feel better, okay?"

She looked down and tears started to slip down her cheeks. He moved to sit next to her on the bed and pulled her head to rest on his shoulder. "It's not fair," she sobbed. "How come you and I, we never catch a break?"

He kissed her gently on her forehead. "We will, baby doll. Let's just worry first about getting you healthy again, okay? That's the most important thing. Chris? Are you listening to me?"

"Yes…"

"It'll happen, alright? And it'll be wonderful. I promise."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

She sighed. "Okay…"

"Come on now, baby doll," he said, "tell me what I can do for you. Are you hungry? Would you like some tea?"

"Yes. On both accounts. Thank you."

"Tacos okay?"

"Whatever. Doesn't really matter."

"Well, I'll go start the water and order something in, alright?"

A few minutes later he returned with her tea and found her curled up on her side, looking out the window. He set the cup down and laid down beside her. Putting his arm around her he asked, "What's going on in there, hmm? Talk to me."

"I'm okay. Well, not really. The TV's bothering me because I'm still seeing double. My head feels like a ball of pain stuffed with cotton balls. I was wondering where you went and didn't remember until just now it was to get me tea. My leg's all gimpy and then there's this," she said, lifting her right arm. "But at least it's green. That's cool. Oh hey. You signed it already…" her voice trailed off as she stared at it. "Remind me tomorrow to have Joe buy me some dictation software. God knows I'm not going to remember. Shit, I can't even write myself a note."

"Don't worry. Tonight I can help you out with that, and I just got a voicemail from my boss saying I don't have to go in tomorrow until noon. And since I've got my go-bag with me I don't even have to go home to get a change of clothes. So it looks like you're stuck with me."

She rolled over and faced him. "You're too good to me."

"No. I just love you, that's all. Now come on. Sit up for me now and drink some tea. I wound up ordering Korean. I hope you don't mind."

"Korean? I love Korean! I hope you got me kalbi!"

"I did."

"Hooray!"

They sat together on her bed later in the evening. They had tried playing Monopoly, but they failed- they both possessed an inability to lose gracefully, and as tensions rose between them Spencer decided to shut down the game before it got hurled across the room. They turned on a cable news channel, though Christine could do little more than listen. By 9:00 she was yawning. He rubbed her cheek and asked her if she wanted to sleep.

"Yeah. Last night they had me hooked up to so many monitors that kept dinging all night long, it was like trying to sleep in a damned cuckoo clock factory."

"Where do you keep your pajamas?"

"I don't. Just grab me a t-shirt there…no, next one down. Yeah. Anything is fine. There's shorts in the drawer next to it."

He handed her the clothes and before she started to change she commanded, "Avert your eyes, sir!"

He turned around. "So now you're mad at because I _want_ to watch? Sure. That makes sense."

"Hey, I gotta take my bra off here, and I'm not wearing one of the fancy new ones I spent way too much money on when I thought we were going to be going away."

"You did?" It came out sounding giddier than he had hoped.

"I did. You may turn around. Fancy, pretty stuff, too. The kind of stuff that's not real comfortable but doesn't need to be because it's not intended to be worn very long."

He sat down, blushing. "You really did that?"

"Of course I did. I paid a lot more for one pair of panties than I'd pay for a six pack of Hanes at Target. And I made of complete fool of myself in the shop, too."

He laughed. "How'd you manage that?"

"Well, I went in and I was completely out of my element. I mean, it was like lace and ribbon overload. I thought I was going to hyperventilate, I felt so out of place. All the other elegant ladies were in heels and skirts and fancy purses and perfume, and I was doing me in shorts, flip-flops and a Chicago Bears shirt I've had for, like, a decade. It was so weird to me that I almost felt like a pervert just walking into a place like that, Spencer- and I'm a woman! So anyway, I find a sales lady who is obviously in her third trimester and I point at her belly, 'You look like you're know what you're doing because, clearly, this stuff got you some action…'"

"You did not!"

"I did. I think she hated me a little, but I think she felt sorry for me, too, because she could tell by the look of me that I have not mastered how to be a girl yet, so I just let her pick everything out for me. And I think she works on commission, man, because I spent more on a weekend's worth of underpants and nighties than I spend all year on clothes."

"I thought you got everything for free," he teased.

"Or off the Old Navy clearance rack. But don't change the subject. The point is, I bought fancy shit for you, but you don't get to see me put it on until…well, until you're willing to take it off. So there." She stuck out her tongue at him. "And I didn't wanna disappoint you with the stuff I was wearing today," she added.

He leaned in and smiled. "I doubt I'll ever be disappointed with you." He kissed her and stood up and stretched. "Guess I'll move out to the sofa and let you rest."

"Why? You should stay. Sleep here."

"Chris…"

"I promise I won't molest you. We can just lay here together without touching one another at all. You know. Like married couples do."

"I don't think that's exactly how marriage works."

"I respectfully disagree."

"Well, let me go brush my teeth and so on."

"I'll be here."

When he returned in his pajamas, he turned out the light and climbed in bed beside her. She sighed happily and laid her good arm over him. He turned on his side to her and kissed her on the forehead. They snuggled and smiled until she began to pluck at the top button on his pajama top. "Hey now, what are you doing there?" he asked. But he didn't stop her. She kissed him lightly on his neck and chest and collarbone. He sighed softly. Then he found himself doing something he knew he should not do, not tonight; he moved his hand from her hip, under her shirt and up until his fingers moved lightly over her breast. Her nipple grew hard instantly under his touch and he leaned in to kiss her so that she turned onto her back. She sat up without saying a word and held her arms over her head. He lifted off her t-shirt and eased her back down onto the bed. He kissed her neck and moved down her chest until his lips found first one nipple, then the other. Then he gasped and looked down at her. She smiled up at him as her left index finger moved slowly up then down again, tracing the outline of his erection. She slipped her hand into his underwear and wrapped it around him. When she squeezed him, he groaned and buried his face in the pillow next to hers. "Please…don't," he gasped. She moved her hand slowly at first and gradually moved it faster and faster. "Please…I…I can't! You're not thinking clearly! We need to wait…until you're…feeling better…oh, God…"

"It's okay, baby. I'm okay. You just go ahead and cum. You don't have to fuck me. I can wait. Just cum, Spencer…go ahead, it's alright."

"No," he said, jerking his head up. "Not like this. Not now." He stood up and pulled up his bottoms.

She sat up and watched as he turned toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"To take a shower!"

"Why?"

He shouted to her from the hallway, "Because now I need to take care of some business that's easier to clean up there. It's your fault- figure it out!"

A short while later he reappeared in her room and sat on the bed. "Why would you do that to me?"

"Because I thought you were enjoying it! Part of you was, anyway. Quite obviously."

"Chris…that's not the point…"

"Then what is?"

"It's…" he sighed and swung his legs up on the bed, "look. This is all really new to me."

"So? It's new to me, too."

"I almost made a disgusting mess all over your hand and the bed and my pajamas."

"Come here, you big, brilliant, wonderful, uptight dork," she said, putting her arm around him and pulling him down. "You do remember that I went to med school right? I'm also a big girl now and I know how both the female and male bodies work. Sweetheart, it's _normal_. I would never think you're disgusting simply because when you achieve orgasm you happen to ejaculate. You're a man. Frankly, I'd be more concerned about you if you _didn't_. Now, just put your arms around me and let's go to sleep. I promise I won't touch you in your special place for the rest of the night."

"It was also difficult for me because…because what I really wanted right then was to have actual intercourse with you." He sighed. "But I just can't, not in good conscience. Not as long as you have a cracked skull and a cast on your arm. It's just…it's really not right. I couldn't live with myself." He pulled her a little closer and said, "but in four weeks, when that cast comes off…" he kissed her on the forehead.

"Six weeks."

"What? No…! Not six! Doesn't that mean…"

"Yep. In fact, I have an appointment to take it of the morning I leave for my fall tour."

"You know how you tell me my job sucks? Well, sometimes your job sucks even more."

* * *

A/N added 4/29/2016

The Taste of Chicago (also known as "the Taste") to locals, is an enormous street festival that showcases food from some of Chicago's best known restaurants. If you ever have the chance to attend it, do so. It's awesome.

The book Christine is reading is by Shelby Foote. It is usually published in three large volumes. I am fortunate enough to have it in a special 40th anniversary edition that consists of 14 illustrated volumes. If you're interested in the US Civil War, I highly recommend it.

in this chapter a number of locations in DC are listed as places they'd like to or did visit for Independence Day. The National Archives house and display the Declaration of Independence, and together with the Smithsonian Museum, is located within walking distance of the National Mall. The Washington Monument is part of the Mall. The annual Independence Day parade proceeds down Constitution Avenue, right by the Mall. The Tomb of the Unknowns is located at Arlington National Cemetery. Arlington National Cemetery, incidentally, is located on the grounds of what had previously been the home of Robert E. Lee, the renowned Confederate general who led rebel troops against the US during the Civil War. It is located a short distance away from DC in Arlington, Virginia and is easily accessible via the Metro.


	6. Chapter 6

At the end of July, Spencer found himself tasked with overseeing the moving of Christine's things. The time had come for her to let go of her lease and move to the farm. It wasn't a big job. He had helped her pack her clothes, kitchenwares and books. Most of her furniture- the little she had, anyway- had been sold or was being donated. She had another job to attend to the final weekend of the month- to fly back to Illinois and return with Alex. It seems the young lady, while not afraid to fly, was deathly afraid of trying of getting lost in the crowd at O'Hare or Reagan; she'd never really traveled anywhere in her life. Thus the last Saturday in July found him alone in her home. After dismissing the movers, who took very little time unloading her things, it was still quite early in the day. He decided to use his time to unpack for her so it might be more comfortable upon her return.

The house was still very much a work in progress. Brad, her contractor, had made good on his promise to have the place "minimally inhabitable" by August 1. Thus two bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, and the kitchen were complete and the new A/C was installed. Other rooms were in varying stages of completion. After unpacking her kitchen items and making the beds, he went to the library. There were beautiful bookshelves built into the walls. They were still in the process of being refinished, but he was able to fit almost all of her books on the one wall that was completed. The afternoon sun shining through the stained glass windows made this room so wonderfully pleasant and inviting that he easily envisioned himself spending many weekend afternoons happily lost in his own books here.

He went back up to her bedroom. It was at the far end of the east side of the home. She had an enormous walk-in closet which he could not picture her ever even coming close to filling. There was an attached bath, as well. It had not originally been designed like this, but Brad had done an excellent job to tearing down and rebuilding walls to make it so. He started to unpack and put away her things then suddenly stopped. He pulled out and held up a sheer blue nightie with pale little gold bows. It had to be one of the things she'd bought for their weekend that never happened; it still had the tags on it. He couldn't help himself and checked the price. _Whoa! She wasn't kidding when she said she'd spent a lot on these things!_ he thought. It seemed strange that such little things should be so pricey. He gathered them up and started towards the closet, but paused by the bed, blushing at the thought of her wearing these things for him. He was tucking them away in a drawer when his phone rang.

"Hey, baby doll!"

"Hey, you! How'd it go today?"

"Everything went very smoothly. I told you I could handle it."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. Seriously. So what are you up to now?"

"Well, I decided to stay behind and unpack for you. It was going to be a surprise. But your kitchen is all set up, you're books are on the shelves properly, and I must say…right now I'm holding some very, very pretty lingerie."  
"Hey! That was supposed to be a surprise!" she sounded a little disappointed.

"Oh, trust me, it was a surprise to find it. A rather pleasant one..."

"Spencer, if I get back there and find those looking or smelling like you've been putting them on to try and feel pretty, dude, we're through!"

"Wouldn't dream of it. I will be dreaming of you wearing them tonight, however," he teased. "Anyway, how's Alex? All ready to go?"

"Sure. She's nervous, but positive! So you're still cool to get us at the airport tomorrow?"

"Absolutely."

"Great. Now put my underwear down, you perv, and stop playing with it!"

"Oh, it'll be put away, and when you get back, you will never know what I've been doing with it!"

* * *

He stood at the bottom of the escalators near the baggage claim with two bouquets. Christine was always easy to spot in a crowd. Close beside her, holding her hand was a young, slight, bespectacled blonde he assumed was Alex. She could have passed for 14, though he knew she was older. She seemed timid, uncomfortable to be in the large crowd, and she avoided making eye contact. When they reached the bottom, Christine ran to him and threw her arms around him for a kiss. Turning to Alex, who was close behind, she introduced them to one another. Spencer offered her the bouquet of gerbera daisies and offered his hand. She took the flowers with a mumbled thanks but not his hand. _Gee, I think I know now how others feel around me,_ he thought. He gave Christine the tulips as they walked to the luggage carousel.

While Christine watched and pulled off their bags, he tried to make small talk with Alex. "Was your flight okay?"

"Yes," she answered flatly, not looking up.

"I hope the crowds weren't too bad for you."

"I…I don't really like crowds."

"I understand. I've lived in cities all my life, and I still don't like crowds. I grew up in Vegas, you know?"

That piqued her interest. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Guess I never thought about people actually living there."

"Well, it's different from what I imagine people think. I didn't grow up in a hotel on the Strip. Just a regular house. I liked to ride my bike and spend time in the desert, looking at lizards and birds and tortoises. Things like that."

"Back home we don't have lizards. We've got toads and frogs. When I was real little we had salamanders, but not so much any more." They both stood quietly for a moment. Then Alex asked, "Are there wolves in the desert?"

"Some. I've heard them a few times, but I've never seen them. We have more coyotes than wolves."

Finally she was looking at him. _Boy, Chris was right. She does love animals._ "We've got those, too! Lots of them. Any time a cat or small dog goes missing, we just assume it was coyotes."

"We used to say that, too! And we were probably right."

"Yeah. We've got weasels, too. My grandma hates them most of all, because they get into her chickens. That's why we always had dogs, to scare away the weasels." She looked over at Christine then leaned toward Spencer and asked in a whisper, "Hey, you think she's let me get a pet? I really want a kitty. Maybe a puppy, too."

"Well, I know she's not allergic to anything, and as long as you take care of it, she'll probably let you. I'd wait until after the tour to ask her though, if I were you. But there's plenty of room to have a pet. Has she told you much about the new house?"

She shook her head. "Only that it's big and old and that I'll have my own room."

"Yes, that's all true…"

Christine hauled the last of the bags back to them and said, "Well, that's it! Where's the car?"

Picking up two of the three bags- everything Alex owned- he said, "Follow me, ladies."

From the back seat, Alex stared at the traffic and billboards and road signs indicating the way to the nation's capital. "Hey, Chris, you think we'll be able to see the White House on the way?"

"We're not even actually in DC right now, sweet pea. We're in Virginia. First we'll go home. But I'll take you into the city soon. I promise."

As they pulled off the road and headed up the drive, Christine announced, "We're here!" It was another moment before the house itself came into view. After Christine and Spencer had gotten out of the car, Alex still sat inside. Christine opened the door for her. "Come on, girl. You're home!"

She got out and asked slowly, "You…you live…here?"

"Yep. Just moved. Nice, right?"

"It's huge…like a palace…"

"Hardly. Come on, now. Let me show you your room."

From the foyer they took the stairs to the right and to Alex's room at the end of the hall. Spencer and Christine took her bags straight to the closet as she stood slack-jawed by the door, clutching her daisies.

"Well, you told me you liked the color pink. Personally, I don't care for it, so I made Spencer pick out the linens for you. That was nice of you to put them on, by the way, sweetheart." He nodded. "So, this remote is for the TV, and this is for the stereo. I've left instruction manuals on your vanity table there. It's a little complicated with the satellite, so if you need help, just holler. The fireplace has been cleaned and is functional, not that it's an issue now. I'm having a new furnace put in that should allow us to heat separate rooms differently, but on the off chance that's not done by the winter, we can always heat the place the old fashioned way. Your closet's in here," she said, gesturing her in. It wasn't as large as her own, but still more than enough to house what Alex had brought. "I don't think you'll have issues with space, right? Hell, I think you have more clothes than me. More shoes, certainly."

"Grandma always bought me two pairs whenever Payless had a sale," she said absently. "Why would anyone ever need a closet like this?"

"Oh, I think back when the place was built it was intended for ladies who wore very large dresses, for whom it was not unheard of to change a few times a day. They would have needed it. Spencer could probably fill it, too. He's got more clothes and shoes than both of us combined."

"I do not! Well, not more shoes, anyway." Christine just rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'm guessing you ladies didn't get fed very well on the flight. Can I buy you both dinner?"

"Yeah sure, that's cool with you, right?" Christine said, looking to Alex for confirmation. "Hey, sweetheart, would you be so kind as to find a vase for these flowers? I don't know where you've put them."

"They're in the kitchen, under the sink, but sure, I'll get one."

After he'd left, Christine asked, "So, is it alright? Think you could get comfortable here?"

"It's great. It's like a hotel, only nicer."

"Well, I don't know about that, but I want you to feel at home."

"He's nice, too. He has…manners. I like him."

Christine smiled. "I know. So do I."

"He's kinda cute, too."

"Yeah, I know that, as well."

"So, does he live with you?"

"No. We're not quite at that point yet."

"Do you think he will?"

"Hey, don't be so pushy, you! You're starting to sound like my brother."

"I just want you to be happy. And you seem to be really happy around him."

"Wow, you _really_ sound like my brother."

Spencer reappeared with the vase. "There you go. Now, did you ladies care to change, or are you ready to go now?"

"Eh, lemme just change shirts, and I'll be good to go. The bathroom is right out your door to the left, Alex, if you need to freshen up. I'll meet you both down stairs." As they left and closed the door to Alex's room, Christine asked Spencer, "Well, impressions?"

"She's a nice girl, shy, but even if I didn't know anything about her background I'd be able to tell she'd been abused. She had a difficult time to make eye contact until we talked about animals. She probably likes them better than people because animals have never hurt her. She wants a cat, you know…"

"Oh?"

"Or a dog. You should look into it once you're back from your tour. I think caring for an animal may be therapeutic for her. You should let her take care of you, too. Give her some responsibility. I know you might think you'd be burdening her with too much too soon, but let her try and do as much as she can. It will help with her self-esteem to know she can do her job well and that she's important to you."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Spencer had followed her right into her own bedroom. Christine smiled and said, "So what, have you come to watch the show?"

He pushed the door shut behind them and held her. "Mmhmm…" He put his arms around her and kissed her, pressing her against the wall. "I thought maybe I could help you change, anyway…" She laughed and went into the closet. "I also thought you may need help finding where I put your clothes. Your shirts, for example, are all over here, right above the drawer where I put these," he said, pulling out the drawer with her lingerie.

"Spencer Reid, don't you dare do this to me, not right now! Because you're the one who said we had to wait until the cast came off, and I swear to god, if you try acting all sexy and flirty with me and get me worked up just so you can turn me down again, I will punch you in your fucking nuts, understand? Do not make me do that to you."

He threw his hands up in surrender saying, "My apologies, madam. I was overcome by your charms. Please don't injure me. I'll meet you both down stairs."

* * *

Three weeks later, he chose to drive to work rather than take the Metro. There was something he had to take care of first. When he pulled up to the house, the tour bus was already there. The driver stood outside, having a smoke, while Joe and Alex stowed luggage. He headed up the steps to the veranda and waved to them. "Is she inside?" They nodded and called out greetings.

He stepped through the door just as she was coming down the stairs with the last of her things. She stopped when she saw him then ran over and threw her arms around him.

"Aren't you going to be late for work?"

He shook his head. "I've got time. I see you've been busy this morning," he said, stroking her now-bare right arm. "How does it feel?"

"Liberated. I can finally write properly again and even scratch it if I feel the need to! What more can a girl ask for?"

"I can think of one thing I could ask for…"

She sighed. "Yeah. November seems a long way away, doesn't it?" Her tour was scheduled to be finished two days before Thanksgiving.

"I'm sure we'll both have plenty of work in the interim. The time will fly."

She brushed a lock of hair back from his eyes and swept it behind his ear only to watch it fall back again. "Well, let me know how things go with you so that I know you haven't been, you know, murdered in the line of duty or anything…"

"I will. And I promise I'll do my best not to be murdered."

"That's what I like to hear."

"Try to stay safe yourself, alright? So far, you have a worse record of on-the-job safety than I."

"Stop. I'll be fine. And I promise to send you post cards as often as I can."

"Hey, Chris- wrap it up! Time to hit the road!" Joe called.

Alex came back in the house and picked up her bag. "Is this it, boss?"

"Yeah. Is everything off?"

"I reprogrammed the thermostat, cleaned out the fridge, unplugged all the small appliances, made sure you had contact solution and all prescriptions packed, then I checked it all twice."

"Great. Lemme just say goodbye here. You get on the bus and tell my brother to take a fucking pill. I'll be there in a minute."

"Will do!"

When she'd left Spencer observed, "She seems to be adjusting well."

"Yeah, I feel a little weird about the whole 'boss' thing, but you were right. She likes the responsibility. Sometimes she goes a little overboard, though. I can't walk in my own door without getting hollered at to take off my shoes because she doesn't want me tracking anything in on 'her' nice clean floors. I'm surprised she didn't yell at you just now."

He smiled and pulled her close. "Yes. Well, I need to be going now anyway. We both do." He gave her a long, sweet kiss and said, "Be safe. I'll miss you."

"You, too." She kissed him back. "I love you, Spencer."

"I love you, too, Christine."

He watched from the veranda and waved as they pulled out. Then he went back inside, armed the alarm for her and locked the door. She was never as safe as she should be.

* * *

She had eight days free during the second and third weeks in October, so she left the rest of her little entourage to enjoy the sand and surf in south Florida while she flew back to Virginia with the excuse that she needed to inspect further renovations on the house. Joe knew her real motivation was to see Spencer for his birthday, but kept this to himself. By the time she bought the tickets, she'd received a text from Spencer saying they'd gotten a case in San Diego, so she resigned herself to simply enjoying the next week's worth of peace and quiet before returning to the craziness of the road.

She was lying on the sofa on Friday evening with a book, a glass of wine, and some music on the stereo when she thought she saw lights in front of the house. The house was set so far back from the road that this caught her attention and she sat up. Even with the curtains drawn she was sure she saw headlights. She'd been lounging in a tank top and panties, so she quickly grabbed her robe and put it on. She went to the door to see who it was, and as she saw him step into the light of the veranda, she threw open the door.

"Spencer! What are you doing here?"

"Looking for a beautiful lady. And it seems I've found her."

She stood back and let him in the door. Closing it behind him, she said, "How did you know I'd be home?"

"I tried calling you a few days ago. When I couldn't get a hold of you, I called Joe, worried you'd gotten yourself into some kind of trouble again. Imagine my surprise when he told me you'd turned off your phone because you were on a flight back here."

"How was your birthday? I'd hoped to surprise you, but…"

"You did surprise me. And," he said, leaning in to kiss her, "my birthday is about to get a much, much better." He pressed his lips to hers and said, "Now, what I want you to do is go upstairs, get dressed, and pack yourself a bag. We're going away tonight. And be sure not to forget all those pretty things you bought."

He leaned in to kiss her again, but she pulled back, smiled, and said simply, "No."

His face fell. "No?"

"No."

"But…but what has changed? Why don't you want to?"

She put her arms around his neck and answered, "Sweetheart, you and I have such bad luck in planning these things that by the time I change and finish packing one of two things is bound to happen- either your phone is going to ring, or I'll do something epically stupid like set my own hair on fire. So no. We're not going anywhere. Not tonight." She pulled him in for another kiss, so passionate that he pressed her up against the wall, hard. He bent his knee so that it touched the wall between her legs and pressed his thigh against her groin. She moaned and kissed neck and pulled his shirt from his waistband.

After a long moment he stood back and said softly, "Let me just go get the bag I've packed, then."

"No!" she insisted, catching his tie and holding him there. "You're not leaving this house. Not now. You can get your clothes tomorrow."

"Baby doll," he said, blushing, "That's not all that's in there, you know. The condoms are in there, too."

"Ah, but you see, I have a confession to make. I knew from the very first time I kissed you that I wanted to sleep with you. So that next week, I saw a doctor and have been on birth control ever since. And since we're both new at this, well," she said, releasing his tie, "you can go get them, if you still feel the need to, but I don't see the point. As for me, I'll be upstairs." She gave him a mischievous smile and started up the stairs. He stared after her for a moment and ran up the stairs behind her.

Once they got to her bedroom, he held her tight and said, "There's something I need you to do for me."

"Anything."

"Go put on one of those nighties you bought."

She disappeared into her closet while he unbuttoned his cuffs. He'd gotten the buttons on his shirt open about halfway down his chest when she came out wearing the periwinkle number he'd seen. It had black lace around the edges and a tiny silver heart that hung between her breasts. It was sheer enough to see she'd put on the pretty matching panties. He tried to say something but, though his lips moved, no sound came out.

"Here, let me help you with that," she said, finishing the buttons on his shirt while he ran his hands over her pale shoulders and down her arms. He hadn't seen her in six weeks- six long weeks without feeling the softness of her skin or breathing in the scent of her hair. She took his shirt off, and when he held out his hand to take it and hang it up, she wadded it up in a ball and tossed it over her shoulder. "Won't be needing that tonight!"

He laughed and shook his head. She knew how he felt about untidiness and disorder. But he pulled her to him again and kissed her. Slowly he backed her up until they reached the bed. "You were right, you know. This is not something that was meant to be worn long at all." He pulled her nightie off over her head and let it fall to the ground. Leaning over, he pulled the covers back on the bed and she climbed in. He walked slowly to the other side of the bed and pulled his belt off. Then he turned his back to her, pulled down his pants and underwear together and quickly got into bed beside her.

They laid down facing one another trading kisses and caresses. After a short while, she said with a smile, "I got you a birthday present, you know?" By this point he'd maneuvered her onto her back and had begun kissing her breasts. He looked up with one eyebrow raised and she said, "I hope you like it. It's the one thing you haven't unwrapped yet."

He sat up and eased her panties off her hips and down her legs. After dropping them to the side of the bed, he pushed her legs apart and moved to kneel between them. He leaned down to kiss her again and grinned at the sweet sound of the moan she gave when he reached down to feel how she had grown wet. He tried somewhat clumsily to position himself properly, and gasped when she took hold of him and guided him into place. When he tried to push forward, however, she gave a little cry and moved uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he panted, embarrassed.

"No, please. Don't be. Please. I was just surprised. It's okay. That was my fault…"

"I don't want to hurt you…"

She took hold of him again and when he was in place, said in his ear, "It's okay. Maybe just do it quickly."

"I love you, Christine."

"I love you too, Spencer," she said, wrapping her arms around his back.

He thrust into her again and this time buried himself in her fully. She gave out a sharp cry, which she stifled against his shoulder. Her knees jerked up against his back and she dug her fingernails into him. "Please…just…don't move. Not just yet. Give me a moment," she begged. Soon he felt her relax beneath him. Her legs moved against his and her hands ran softly down his back. He raised himself up again to look into her face and she smiled at him and nodded. He kissed her again and began to slowly move in and out of her.

It all was better than he'd ever dreamt. She was so warm and wet and soft and firm and tight…he began to move faster when suddenly something changed. Her soft cries and moans grew louder until she was screaming. As she did, her back arched and her thighs slammed tight against his own. He continued to thrust as hard as he could into her until he fell the walls of her vagina contracting around his swollen penis. He felt like he was going to come completely unglued in that moment, but he was not ready to be finished with her- not yet. So he began reciting the Periodic Table in his mind, all of the elements and all of their atomic weights until her screams subsided and were replaced with contented sighs and giggles.

He paused to look at her again and she said, "Wow…you really _are_ Superman, aren't you? Are you sure you've never done this before?"

"Oh, I'm sure. But I do pride myself on being a fast learner…"

"Well, you are that, for sure." She was still giggling.

He began to move again and suddenly found himself thinking, _Now that I've made love to her properly, I just want to fuck her as hard as I can._ He reached his left arm down under her knee and with his right hand he grabbed her other thigh and held it against his waist. He felt himself penetrating her even deeper this way, giving him a sensation that nearly drove him mad. He thrust himself into her as hard as he could, faster and faster until an orgasm crashed over his body like a tremendous wave. He fell forward, burying his face in the pillow next her head to muffle the sound of the loud shout that was wrenched from him. He was dimly aware that, upon feeling him throb within her, she'd been driven to another orgasm herself, screaming and writhing and kicking helplessly within his tight grasp. They continued like this for longer than seemed possible, each one's climax extended by the other's pleasure, until their bodies finally relaxed and their shouts died off into softer groans.

He released her legs which slipped down beside his, spent. He tried to say something but could only muster, "Wow…" Then he began to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she asked drowsily.

"I just remembered something Joe said to me."

"Really? You wanna talk about my brother now?"

"When I was 16 he said, 'One day, you're going meet a girl who makes you feel so crazy stupid in love that you'll forget your own name.' And damn if that didn't happen just now!"

She laughed, then sighed, then said rather unceremoniously, "Alright now. Get off me." He moved obediently to the other side of the bed and looked questioningly at her as she got up. "I've gotta go tidy up a bit. Turns out you men like to make an awful mess."

He just shook his head and called after her as she went into the bathroom, "Hey, it's your own fault! You were the one who told me not to bother with a condom!" He sank back onto the bed and lay there with one arm under his head, staring up at the ceiling. What had just transpired played again in his mind like a movie. Sometimes, having an eidetic memory was indeed a very, very good thing.

When she came back out, she headed not back to bed, but to the fireplace at the opposite end of the room. He propped himself up on one arm and asked what she was doing. "Making a fire, duh. It's going to be chilly tonight and I still haven't figured out how to use that furnace to just heat an individual room. Seems like a waste to get the whole place warm when I'm only going to be in here tonight, don't you thi-" she stopped short after turning around to see he was standing up and pulling on his underwear. "Oh. I guess I thought you were spending the night."

"Yes, I mean, I was planning on it."

"Then why are you getting dressed?"

"I was only putting on my underwear. I'm not used to sleeping naked."  
"Who said anything about sleeping tonight?" She paused, and after looking at him for a moment, burst out laughing. He stood for a moment feeling embarrassed. "Aw, don't look like that! Come on, I think it's adorable!"

"Look, this was a big step for me tonight. Because as much as I wanted this, I was really nervous, too. I was worried that you might not like the way I look, but to laugh at me like that- that's just cruel, Chris."

She climbed on the bed and pulled him down on it. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders she said, still laughing, "Now, I've always wondered about you. You dress nicely. You obviously care about your appearance. But how could a man who dresses so carefully, never manage to wear matching socks? Most people match their socks to something, like their shirt or jacket or trousers. But I just finally solved the riddle of how the man who can't match his socks ties his whole outfit together!"

He leaned away from her. "Don't you say it!" he warned.

"Hey, I'm not judging you! I think it's awesome! This is comic gold. I couldn't write stuff this good!"

"Hush!"

"Imagine the laughs I'll get when I tell people my boyfriend's idea of coordination is matching his tie to his underwear!"

"You'd better not!

"It's amazing! I love it!"

He caught her by the shoulders and pressed her down on the bed. "No! Don't say a word!"

"But this is too good to keep to myself!"

"No! My underwear must never make it into your stage act!"

"Awwwww, you're mean!"

"And you can't tell Joe, either!"

"Aw, come on…"

"Or Alex!"

"Come ON!"

"No!" She tried to pretend as if she were pouting. "You're already thinking of ways to make fun of me, aren't you? I can hear the crazy little hamsters that play on those wheels in your mind running."

"Who, me? Nooooo…"

"And you wonder why I haven't introduced you to my friends yet."

"Yeah, why is that?"

"Because you'll tell them every embarrassing story about me you can think of, including how to tell what color of underwear I'm wearing, you maniac!"

"Oh, settle down and let's get these off you," she said, pulling his underwear back off. When she'd succeeded, she used the waistband like a sling shot to launch them across the room.

"Be careful! They almost landed in the fire!"

"I know. If I'd have only been a few inches to the left I'd have hit my target." He sat up and started undoing her braid. "Hey now. What's going on there?"

Loosening her hair, he pulled it forward over her shoulders so that it cascaded over her breasts. He kissed her and said, "You are so beautiful. The Mona Lisa has nothing on you."

She stuck her tongue out and said, "Ridiculous. If anything, I look more like Botticelli's Venus. At least she was a ginger. And now my hair's going to be a tangled mess in the morning if I sleep in it like this."

"My point is, you're an Italian masterpiece. And who said anything about sleeping tonight?"

"Well, that's even worse, because if you spend the night trying to permanently nail me to the bed like you did just now, I'll never get a comb through it again!"

He laid back and pulled her one leg over him, lifting her on top of him. "Well, there's a solution to that, too, isn't there?"

"Wow, it really did not take long to get little Spencie and the twins ready for the second inning, did it?"

"No. You should know by now that I have a tireless work ethic."

"Well, it is said that practice makes perfect. And we both know what a perfectionist you are."

"Oh, absolutely!"

She leaned over him, kissing and giggling as his fingers played over her breasts and slipped down to her hips. She moved her hips teasingly so that she just lightly brushed the tip of his erect penis. When he'd been driven sufficiently mad, he grasped her hips firmly and pulled her down onto him with a groan. She cried out his name in surprise. He moved her back and forth before turning his attention back to her wonderfully full, firm breasts. Watching her moving like this in the firelight, making love to him, was better than he'd ever imagined in his dreams- and he'd dreamed of this many, many times. Soon she moved so that her chest was against his, and her voice began to rise. When he heard her screaming, he grasped her hips and forced her down on him in rhythm to the contractions he felt. When she was spent and laying on him, panting, he rolled them both over. She crossed her legs behind his back and urged him on to his own climax. It didn't take long before that exquisite rush of electricity washed over him again, blinding his mind and wracking his whole body with ecstasy. A primal, groaning shout was torn from him as he surrendered to this pleasure and he laid there with her for a long moment afterwards, feeling completely, happily lost in her.

When he moved off her and laid on his back, she turned to him and ran a finger through his sweat-damp hair, twirling it around her finger. "I never realized you had curly hair…."

"Ohhh…" he complained, tugging at it a little, "it gets like that when it's wet."

"You should wear it like that always. I like curly hair."

"I don't. It looks so unkempt and unmanageable."

"Gee, thanks."

He smiled. "I didn't mean yours. You're beautiful."

"And you lied to me. You said you wouldn't have me on my back, sir."

He sighed and turned on his side to face her. "Well now, I blame you for that. It's your fault I got carried away."

"Mine?"

"Yes, yours. You know, that time we were together and you…made me need to take a shower? That wasn't the first time I've had to do that after seeing or talking to you."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of. It's a perfectly normal thing for a person to do. I've had to take matters into my own hands myself many times."

"I'd never considered that…but still, that felt a lot different than," he bent his head forward so their foreheads touched, "than actually being here with you. It's a completely different experience and sensation to which I could not have predicted my reactions."

"I must say, though, I have thoroughly enjoyed your reactions tonight."

"There has been nothing about this night I have not found extremely pleasurable."

"I love you, Spencer."

"I love you, too, baby doll," he told her, as he pulled her into his embrace before they drifted off into sleep together.


	7. Chapter 7

He woke as the sun rose the next morning and spilled its light through the windows. He smiled, watching her sleep. She'd been right; her hair was a mess, but in the most adorable way possible. He reached out and lightly brushed some off her face and swept it over her bare, freckled shoulder. As soon as he had done so she began to stir, and he immediately wished he hadn't disturbed her. She sighed and yawned and opened her eyes, trying to focus and comprehend. "Good morning, baby doll." Her eyes opened wide and she sat up, holding the blanket up to her neck. Alarmed, he sat up, too. "Is everything alright?"

"You're…you're actually here. Which means that wasn't a dream. Last night really _happened_." She turned to him. "Didn't it?"

"Yes," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. "It did." She squirmed a little and laughed. "What's so funny?"

"You. Your face. You're all scruffy and ticklish."

He smiled and pulled her back down. He rubbed his cheek playfully against hers as she squealed and pretended to try and push him away. "Well, I _am_ a man and it's just a normal biological function…" Looking down at her for a moment, he asked more seriously, "Are you happy, baby doll?"

She nodded. "Are you?"

"Supremely happy."

"Well, you know," she said teasingly, "one can never be too happy." She slipped a hand between them and exclaimed, "Would you look at that! Turns out, someone else is happy, too! Do you think he'd like to come out this early to play?"

He moved one knee and then the other between her legs. "I think we both know the answer to that." He pressed his lips to her neck and thrust into her. He didn't think he could ever tire of hearing her cry out happily when he did so, as she'd done several times already throughout the night. Their sex had been at different times vigorously passionate, gently tender, achingly sweet and laughably silly. But each time had been exhilarating, exuberant and exquisitely satisfying. Now that they'd both had a bit of rest, and as he took her harder and harder, she kicked and bucked and clawed at his back like a wildcat, screaming over and over for him to fuck her until it was obvious she was cumming even if she hadn't announced it. He didn't pause to let her recover this time; he'd learned that if he kept up a driving pace he could bring her to another orgasm almost immediately.

"Spencer, I…god! I can't catch my fucking breath! Please, sweetie…give me a minute…" she panted.

"No. You are going to cum for me again, and you're going to cum now. I need you to hurry because…oh, shit! Cum, baby! Cum with me now! Ohhhhh fuuuuuuck…!" He'd never before in his life imagined using such language. But life had changed since last night. She was screaming again now and he surrendered to his own climax with a shout.

As they lay panting side by side afterwards, she said simply, "Goooood morning Dr. Reid!"

"A very good morning, indeed."

"Want some coffee?"

"Always."

With that, she got up, pulled on her panties and his shirt that she'd left wadded up in a ball the night before. He couldn't resist reaching out to slap her bottom as she leaned over to pick it up. She turned around, kissed him hard on the lips, and sauntered out the door.

He sat up in bed, crossed his arms behind his head and smiled to himself. After a few moments he reached over, grabbed the remote off her nightstand and began flipping through the news channels. A short while later she returned with two cups. As she was setting his down on the nightstand next to him, she heard a buzzing by her feet and fished his phone out of the pocket of his pants. He reached for it, but she held it away from him and asked, "So…who's Jennifer?"

"That's just JJ. Come on- I may need to take that."

" _Jennifer_? Interesting. I wasn't aware JJ was a woman." She handed his phone to him with a dubious look and sat down at her dressing table, ostensibly to deal with her long, tangled hair. It wasn't lost on him that she was watching him in the mirror; she wasn't exactly subtle about it.

He flipped his phone open. "Hey, JJ. What's up?"

"I was calling about the game next weekend. I was thinking that since the game starts at 1:00, we should leave by 10:00 at the latest to make sure we're on time. Unless you'd rather have breakfast before hand…"

"No, it's okay. 10:00 is fine. I can pick you up at your place."

"Oh. Alright. Well…what are you up to today? Would you like to go for brunch maybe?"

"Actually, I'm kinda busy right now," he looked up to see Christine eyeing him in the mirror, comb paused in midair. She pretended to resume attending to her hair.

"You're busy? It's only 8:30 in the morning! How about lunch or dinner, then?"

"No, no…I'm going to be pretty busy the whole day."

"Are you free at all tomorrow?"

He looked up at Christine. She was definitely _not_ pleased with what she was hearing. "Look, JJ, I appreciate the offer, but my schedule's pretty full the whole weekend. But I'll see you on Monday, okay?"

"Oh. Okay…" she said slowly. "See you then. Sorry to bother you. Bye…"

"Bye, JJ." He closed his phone and braced himself for the impending storm he knew was about to hit. Picking up his coffee he took a sip. "It's sweet, baby doll. You know just the way I like it." He smiled hopefully.

She turned around slowly. "Now, I knew you work with JJ, but I find it strange how you skillfully avoided disclosing the fact that she's a woman."

"Because it doesn't matter, dear. We're just colleagues."

"Oh, no. You're not _just_ colleagues. You made a date with her."

"It's not like that."

"It is exactly like that. Look me in the eye and tell me to my face that you think I'm too stupid to know what I heard. I dare you."

He sighed. "It's no big deal. She wanted to grab some breakfast or brunch. We do it all the time." He regretted those last words as soon as they came out of his mouth. _Good job, genius. You just found a way to make it sound even more incriminating!_

"All…the time. I see. Interesting."

"It's not as if we go out alone. We're usually with Morgan and Garcia, too."

" _Three_ women? Oh, because that's _much_ better!"

"What? No!" He laughed, remembering he'd once told her Garcia's first name was Penelope, but he'd only ever called Morgan by his surname. "No, see, Morgan is not…" he couldn't stop laughing, "…Morgan's not a woman! Morgan's first name is Derek! Do you get it now?"

"So you four go out on double dates. Because yeah, of course. It makes more sense."

"Yes! I mean no. I mean…were just two men accompanying two women that we work with and there is nothing romantic between any of us, except for maybe potentially between Garcia and Morgan because she seems to want something to go on between them but…"

"Fascinating." She turned back around and continued dealing with her hair. Now she wasn't looking back at him, and this disturbed him more.

He sighed. He'd tried to hide the truth of Gideon's gift from her but clearly that had backfired. So he came clean. "Look, Gideon gave me a birthday present- some tickets to a football game- and he suggested I invite JJ to go with because she loves football. So I did. That's it."

She turned back around. "Football? _I_ love football! You know that!"

"No, _you_ love the Bears. And maybe whoever defeats the Packers. These are Redskins vs. Kansas City Chiefs tickets."

"Oh. 'Skins suck. Those fuckers beat the Bears this year."

"Which exactly what I thought you'd say. And the game is next Sunday, when you're supposed to have a show in Austin. I was fairly certain you wouldn't want to come all the way back to see a game in Maryland played by a team you hate. Was I wrong?"

"No…" She looked at him for a moment and asked, "Is she pretty?" He opened his mouth then closed it and looked down at his coffee. "Ah. I get it. She's not just pretty. She's gorgeous, isn't she? Blonde, I'm guessing?"

"Chris, what difference does it make?"

"Nah, I just know you've always had an eye for blondes."

"What? No…why would you say that?"

"Dude- I've got eyes, and I'm not stupid."

He went over to her and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. "Baby doll, maybe that _was_ the case, but now I think the most beautiful woman in the world is a redhead. Look at me. I'm with _you_. I love _you_. Do you believe me?"

She sighed. "Yes…"

"Then why would you think I'd risk being with the woman I love just for the sake of pancakes and a football game I'm not even interested in?"

"Because…because I've always sort of felt like…in a way, I've always thought you were just settling for me. That someday it would dawn on you what an amazing guy you are and that when that happened, you'd realize you could do better than me. And then you would."

"Would…what, exactly?"

"Would find someone better."

"Baby doll, there's no one better than you. You're brilliant, you're beautiful…"

"There are a lot of smart women in this world, Spencer. Most of them far prettier than me."

"Chris, there is no one quite like you in this world. And every day of my life, I wake up thankful that I'm lucky enough to be the man with you."

He kissed her again, this time on the cheek. "Aw, you charmer," she smiled, somewhat grudgingly. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Good to know. Though I'm pretty sure you're the only person in the world who would characterize me as 'charming'." He straightened up and stretched. "Now, may I have my shirt back? I need to run outside and grab my suitcase from the car. I could use a shower and a fresh change of clothes."

"Oh, alright," she said, pulling off the shirt and handing it to him. "Though I don't see why you need clothes at all."

"Then I need my toothbrush, okay? Good oral hygiene is important too, you know."

Spencer stood in the shower for a while with his eyes closed, reveling in the invigorating sensation of water flowing over his body as the memories they'd made over the previous 12 hours played like a movie in his mind. He started at the sound of the shower door opening and instinctively turned away, blushing. He knew it was foolish to do so- what hadn't she seen of him already that he thought he needed to hide? She slapped him nonchalantly on the hip saying, "Move over, you. Make a little room."

He obliged and, turning back towards her teased, "Is this how it's going to be? Can't I even bathe in peace?"

"Dude, if you wanted peace in your life, you've hooked up with the wrong chick."

"Clearly."

She put her arms around his waist. "I don't know why you feel the need to be so bashful around me of all people."

"You know, I have to confess, that before last night I was afraid of you seeing me naked."

"Good lord, what for? Look at you! You're gorgeous. You should be walking runways and posing for magazines."

He laughed and shook his head. "I'm glad you think so, though I sure don't see it. I was afraid you'd think I was too skinny or pale, and I was almost certain that when we finally did try and have sex that I'd do something so awkward or clumsy that I'd turn you off for good."

"I have to tell you, I thought it would be…I don't know…weirder than it was, or maybe somehow kind of gross. There are just a lot of things that end up getting shoved in unfamiliar places and all sorts of bodily fluids that wind up where they've never been before. But it all worked out, didn't it? And when it finally happened, it all seemed to come perfectly naturally, you know? There was nothing strange about it. Well…except for that one time when you tried to-"

"Let's not talk about that," he said quickly. "It was a mistake! I told you. It was dark, I got a little carried away…"

"I thought we weren't talking about it?"

"Yeah. That's probably for the best."

"But hey, it's cool. Better that we're honest with one another about what we each like, don't like, and what just flat out ain't gonna fly, right?"

"You're right," he replied with a chuckle. "Live and learn, I guess."

"Exactly. Like last night I learned you prefer to be on top and in charge, correct?"

"Well, I don't know if that's entirely true…"

"Hey, it's fine with me. It's kind of nice to have a little role reversal now and then. You told me a while back that I liked bossing you around. I'm not gonna lie. I like getting my own way. But it can be exhausting sometimes. It's kinda nice to be able to be vulnerable with someone whom I can implicitly trust to not just serve his own interests, but mine as well." She paused thoughtfully for a moment. "I found that…beautiful. Really lovely."

He kissed her softly. "I'm glad you feel that way- that you trust me like that. It wouldn't have meant anything to me if I didn't make you as happy as you make me."

They held one another quietly under the falling water until she felt herself being poked in the belly in that now-familiar manner. "So, I take it you're hoping for shower sex this morning?"

He gave her a little lopsided grin. "Why? Was there another reason you got in here with me?"

"Who, me? I was just thinking that if we doubled up, we could save water, that's all. It's called being environmentally conscious, Spencer. You really should try it some time."

"Yeah, sure. _That's_ the reason," he teased, lifting her one leg to his side.

They tried with great difficulty to maneuver themselves into position despite their significant differences in height. After it quickly became apparent that wasn't going to work as long as they both had their feet on the ground, he suggested he should try and lift her. They abandoned that idea because they deemed the risk of sustaining a slip and fall injury to be too great. "Nah, this ain't gonna work," Christine said. "I've already had one concussion recently. We don't need either of us winding up with another…"

She then proceeded to get down on her knees. "Baby doll," he said, "really, it's okay. You don't need to- oh my god! What…what on earth are you doing?" It was a stupid question. He knew exactly what she was doing. He grasped the handle on the inside of the shower door to steady himself and closed his eyes. His other hand came to rest on her head. "Chris…oh! Yes! Oh god, I…I think I'm going to…ohhhh…"

Suddenly she stopped and stood up. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just can't do this. It's this hard surface. My knees are killing me. I couldn't take it any more!"

He was breathing heavily. "I understand. It's okay. Maybe…maybe we could try laying down?"

That didn't work either. She hit her head on the back wall of the shower a few times once they started to move together and then started coughing uncontrollably after accidentally catching a mouthful of water. "Christ, it's like being fucking water boarded!"

He stood and offered her a hand up. As she stood, he pulled his arm back and hit it painfully on the shower handle. Rubbing it he told her, "Chris, I don't think this is going to work. What do you want to do now?"

"Well, I definitely want to write very strongly worded letters to every filmmaker and writer who's ever depicted shower sex as a romantic possibility denouncing them as liars, for one…" He laughed and put his arms around her. "But first," she said, "I think I'll just take a shower. So go on-git!"

"Hey, I was here first!"

"And I own the place! Outta my way, sparky."

"I've already finished half my shower!"

"There's another one down the hall. Just go use Alex's."

"No!"

"Why? It's not like she's in it."

"You're being ridiculous. Hand me that shampoo. I'm finishing my damn shower here. You go down the hall."

She narrowed her eyes. "Counter proposal. We take turns under the water. One can lather while the other one rinses, then we switch places."

He sighed. "Alright. That sounds reasonable."

"Good. Now get out of my way. I need to get my hair wet."

As they toweled off afterwards, they laughed and debated which one was the clumsiest. "You know," Christine concluded, "I think wet-and-wild-sexy-fun-time just wasn't intended for dorks like us."

"There may be something to that."

Moments later, Christine stood in her closet and called out, "So, what should I wear today? And don't say nothing- there's nothing that's put on that can't be taken back off."

"I don't care as long as it's something nice." His voice had come from directly behind her, and she turned to see him standing in the doorway to the closet, buttoning up his shirt. "I want to take you out tonight. I was thinking maybe we could celebrate this new stage in our relationship. Besides, I like showing you off."

"You're ridiculous." She turned back to her wardrobe, which had few dressy offerings.

"That may be true, but it doesn't mean you're not beautiful." Sensing her indecision he suggested, "Maybe you could wear the dress with the yellow flowers that you wore on our first date?"

"That? That's a spring dress. Light colors aren't appropriate this time of year."

"Since when have you cared about propriety and social conventions? Well, wear what you please. I only have one request."

"What's that?"

"Wear it with some of that new lingerie."

She got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and they went out for lunch first. By the time they were leaving to return home it had started to rain. Rain meant an afternoon spent indoors and another fire in the fireplace. It also meant an afternoon in bed with hot tea, newspapers, giggling and lovemaking. After a long nap, she roused herself and shook his shoulder. "Hey, sweet cheeks. You still thinking of going out tonight, or would you rather I just grab something from the store and cook here?"

He yawned and noticed the last rays of sunlight were disappearing from the windows. "What time is it?"

"About 6:30."

"Already? Wow. No, I definitely still want to go out."

"If you insist…"

She got up and went over to her dressing table. He watched with mild fascination as she applied makeup- she seldom wore it except when performing under stage lights- and pulled her hair back from her face, securing it with pins and a yellow bow so that it flowed down her back. It stirred a memory in him from his early childhood, from a happy time before his parents split up. He would lay on the bed and watch his mother ready herself for a special night out just like that. When she stood and found him watching her she asked, "What are you smiling at?"

He shrugged slightly and said, "Just you. You're very pretty. And you make me very, very happy."

"You're being silly," she said as she walked to her closet. She came out again as he was tying his tie. "Zip me up?"

"Of course." He kissed her neck as she held up her hair. "I love you, baby doll."

"I love you, too."

"Thanks for wearing that. It's a lovely dress."

"Well, I figured you were right. To hell with social conventions. Yellow flowers are always nice."

After a lull in their dinner conversation, she asked, "I was wondering- did you have any plans for Thanksgiving?"

"No. I haven't really celebrated Thanksgiving in years. I usually just get take out and spend the evening reading."

"Well, I've decided not to go home this year. Back to Illinois, I mean. So Alex and I were going to be alone together. Joe and Laurie are still deciding where they should go. They might come. You should come to my place, too. It could be fun."

"I'd like that. But I do have to wonder why you wouldn't want to go home, especially after your mother's diagnosis. How is she?"

"Pfft. She's fine. Everything went fine. Radiation was the worst of it- it feels like a bad sunburn, you know? But I've concluded that she's so terrifying that the cancer was more scared of her than she was of it. And she and I can only take one another in small doses. I didn't tell you about the fight we had at Easter, did I?"

"No…"

"It was over the stupidest thing in the world. Check it out- she was hosting dinner, just for our family, but by the time you add in all my siblings, their spouses and the kids, it's up to 18 people already."

"Whoa. That many?"

"Yeah. It's mostly Wes' fault- he and Jenny have six kids."

"Why so many? I mean, I'm not judging or anything, but that's a lot, particularly for a family with one parent who's on active duty."

"There's a set of triplets in there. Identical boys, all gingers. And no, they weren't taking fertility meds or anything. I'm pretty sure it wasn't even a planned pregnancy, because she got pregnant two months after the birth of their first one. She delivered at 31 weeks, so they had four kids before their second anniversary. And he shipped out six weeks after that. How Jenny remained sane boggles my mind."

"I can't even fathom it."

"No shit. So anyway, mom's hosting dinner for a crowd, right? And I'm the only one in the kitchen to help her and she puts me in charge of the potatoes. Among other things. So when the potatoes are done boiling, she tells me to put the colander in the sink to drain them. And I'm like, 'It's cool, Mom. I got this.' And I do this move where I leave the lid on the pot and just slide it back so I can tip it and get the water off them. I figured that way I'd save us from having to wash the colander. That's one less dirty dish, so yay me, right? Wrong. My mother loses her fucking mind and starts yelling at me for not using the stupid colander. I'm like, 'Mom, look. See that? The water is off them, and I didn't lose a single potato down the sink, so what's the problem?' And I swear to God, she starts screaming at me, and I mean seriously screaming at the top of her lungs, 'The problem is, you can't follow directions! You always have to do everything your own way just to spite me! For once in your life, just do what I tell you to do, the way I tell you to do it!' All this over potatoes, Spencer. Boiled fucking potatoes. So I told her, 'You know what, Mother? Fine. If you honestly think that I, a 25-year-old grown woman with at least half a functioning brain in my skull, am incapable of boiling a potato properly, well then, that's just dandy. There's nothing more I can do to help you here. Enjoy making the rest of the entire stinking dinner all by yourself. I'm done.' And I marched my happy little ass right out the door, grabbed a beer at the bar, and didn't come back until dinner was being set on the table. All because she couldn't deal with the fact that I drain water off of boiled potatoes differently than her. Goddamned simple-ass motherfucking potatoes."

"I'm sorry that happened to you. I can kind of understand now why you're not eager to go home." He smiled shyly. "I must say, I'm a little relieved, though. Part of me was nervous that you might ask me to go meet your family, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet."

"Yeah, well, you've got an extra month to prepare before you have to do that. Because you _are_ coming with me for Christmas, you know."

"I am?"

"You are. And don't worry. Everyone will love you. Except Cori. She's just a bitch who doesn't like anyone, but it's cool because no one likes her, either. Except Mom. She's Mom's favorite. But my parents and Wes will absolutely adore you, primarily because you're everything they always hoped I would grow up to be. You know- respectful, responsible, gainfully employed in a respectable profession that doesn't involve making fun of them in front of strangers, and which provides you with good insurance and a proper retirement plan. In other words, you're the opposite of me. Also, it'll help to dispel the notion they've gotten into their heads that I'm going to hell because I must be a lesbian since I've never brought a guy home to meet them. Meeting you will totally blow their minds."

He had to laugh. "I'm sure that they don't think that of you."

"Oh, I'm sure they do. Joe even told me they discussed it at dinner once when he was there. It was before you and I started dating. The very thought of it had my mother in tears. They're so repressed that to this day, I think my parents have never actually acknowledged to themselves that my uncle Russ is gay. I truly think that they believe that after he and his wife divorced, that the guy he moved in with was just his 'roommate'. Never mind that he and Mike have been together for 14 years and now own a home together. As far as my folks are concerned, they're still just roommates."

Spencer picked up his wine and took a long sip. He'd spent most of his life wishing he'd had a family to spend time with. Holidays were particularly lonely for him. And though he still longed to someday have a family of his own, he sincerely hoped that when that day came they wouldn't bring with them the chaos that seemed to swirl around these people. Setting his glass down, he tried to change the subject. "So anyway, I was thinking that since I have to work on Monday, that maybe tomorrow night you should spend the night at my place. I mean…well…not to say that you _should_ or that should you feel you _need_ to…I just thought…I thought, if you'd like to spend the night together, well…if we did spend Sunday night together, doing so at my place would be more convenient for me. If you want to, that is."

"You're so cute when you're flustered. Sure. I'd love to. Provided I don't have to sleep on the couch this time."

He blushed and smiled. "No, not this time. I'd definitely prefer you _not_ take the couch." He reached his hand across the table and took hers. When their waiter came to talk to them about desert, he didn't even listen to the offerings. He was too busy wondering how he would get through Christmas with the Arcangelis.


	8. Chapter 8

"I told you that you should have bought a warmer coat. And mittens. Those thin little leather gloves aren't worth shit at 4:00am in Chicago. Not at this time of the year."

Spencer tried to warm his hands on the cup of coffee he'd purchased. His whole body was shivering so badly it was hard to sip without spilling on himself. "You're not wearing mittens. You're not even wearing a hat."

"Those of us born here have built up a tolerance. And my hands stay warmer if I keep them in my pockets balled up in fists."

"Why can't we just wait inside for the shuttle?"

"Because this is Chicago, where people treat driving live a full-contact sport. If the shuttle driver doesn't see us waiting for him, he won't stop and wait politely because you couldn't handle the weather. How you holding up back over there, Alex?"

"I'm okay. Just remembering how much I hate the cold. Doesn't seem to get this bad in Virginia."

"Right? Thank God for coastal climates." Christine turned back to Spencer and said, "Cheer up, dude. Our carriage has arrived!"

After taking the shuttle to the rental agency, they loaded up the car and headed west from O'Hare towards Christine's hometown of Hampshire. From the backseat, Alex made a call to her grandmother to let her know they'd arrived safely. When she hung up, Christine said, "Okay, listen up you two, because you're going to meet my family soon, and there's a few things I have to warn you about. My mom is…intimidating. No one measures up to her standards of perfection. So if she puts you down to you face, just let it go and don't take it personally. She's like that with everyone. And my sister Cori is a flat-out bitch. Again, don't take it personally. Also, you may hear me called by different names."

"What, like Chrissy?" Spencer teased.

She sat silently for a moment. "Yes," she finally replied, angrily. "Some people may call me that. You, however, are forbidden."

"What's wrong with Chrissy, boss? I think it's kind of cute!"

"It's not cute. It's insultingly juvenile." She sighed then explained, "When I was little, I had a slight stutter and a strong lisp which required years of speech therapy to correct. Kids used to call me 'B-b-b-b-baby Cwithy'. Now do you get why I hate that name? The only people allowed to call me that are older relatives. I figure anyone who's ever changed my diapers has earned the right to call me whatever they damned well please. Neither of you fall into that category. Also, my dad sometimes calls me Christopher and my grandpa calls me Crystal." She reached over to grab Spencer's coffee and took a sip. "Ew! Oh my god, that's disgusting! How the hell can you drink that shit? It's got so much sugar in it that it crunches in your mouth!"

"Don't be so dramatic. It's delicious."

"It's diabetes in a cup. Oh! One more thing- my folks are taking us out for breakfast. Your grandma's going too, right, Alex?"

"Yep!"

Just after 6:00am they pulled into her parent's driveway. "Go ahead and pull up behind the garage there, to the right," Christine said.

"Won't I be blocking them from getting out?"

"No, it's cool. Mom's car is on the left. They'll wanna take that one."

They got out and followed Christine through the garage door into the house. "Hey guys," she called out. We're here!" Her parents came out from the kitchen where they'd been drinking coffee- the smell of it made Spencer feel at home. "Merry Christmas, Mom. You too, Dad!"

Her father returned the greeting; her mother, however, held her arms out and said cheerfully, "Alex! Good to see you again! You're looking well! Is my daughter treating you alright?"

"Good to see you, too, Mom," Christine muttered under breath.

"Chris, I thought you were bringing a friend with, or did you mean just Alex?"

"Mom, she's not _just_ Alex. She's Alex-with-an-exclamation-point! I couldn't get by without her." She gave Alex a smile and wink. "But to answer your question, no. I also brought Spencer with. Spencer, these are my parents, Dr. Paul and Mrs. Marie Arcangeli. Guys, this is my boyfriend, Dr. Spencer Reid."

Her mother's eyes moved beyond the two young women to the tall man standing quietly behind them. "Your _boyfriend_? Ohhh. You didn't mention that. And a doctor, no less! Welcome! My, aren't you a handsome young man!" Mrs. Arcangeli smiled warmly at him and he waved his hand in greeting.

"Good to meet you, son," her father said. "So, who's hungry? I know I am. We're going to Allen's Corner, I guess. Did you three want to ride with us?"

"Nah. We've got a rental, Dad. We'll follow you there. Besides, we still need to check into the hotel yet."

"You're not going to be staying with us?" Her father sounded genuinely disappointed.

"Oh, Paul, I told the girl we just wouldn't have the room. Wes' family's coming tomorrow, and I've been looking forward to having all the grandchildren under one roof."

"The girls could have doubled up and the boys wouldn't mind camping out in the living room. Then we could fit the whole family in the house."

"No Dad. It's fine. I don't mind. I wouldn't want to be in anybody's way."

A few moments later they were back on the road. After a moment Alex commented, "Is it just me, or was that awkward?"

"Nope, it is not just you, sweet pea. My mother makes everyone feel like that."

"May I make an observation?" Spencer asked.

"Oh, please. I'd love to hear you analyze my folks' behavior."

"First, I found it interesting that your mother greeted both Alex and I quite cordially, but she never actually said hello to you. When she did speak to you, it to say something accusatorial. Then she spoke to your father about you almost as if you weren't standing right in front of her."

"Caught all that, did you?"

"And your father clearly knows there's tension between your mother and you because he was quick to hurry us all out of the house again. He was unhappy, though, that you're not going to be staying with them. He misses you. But he's spent many years, it seems, trying to keep the peace with your mother."

"You pretty much nailed it."

"Hey Chris?"

"Yes, Alex?"

"Does your mom just…not like you?"

"Not very much I think, no."

"Why? Were you in trouble a lot as a kid or something?"

"We're just very different people, is all. And I think she finds that disappointing. But it's all good. You get to go back with your grandma after breakfast, and I've made enough plans for Spencer and me to stay so busy that we shouldn't have to see my mother again before Christmas Eve."

After parting ways with Alex and her grandmother after breakfast, Spencer and Christine went to their hotel, having been able to arrange for an early check-in. By 11:00am they were in bed, relaxed and blissfully happy again. As she lay with one arm across his bare chest, he stroked her hair and chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking it's strange that for the first 24 years of my life, it seemed normal to go without sex. Now I find doing without it for a week or even a few days to be almost unbearable."

She gave him a little squeeze. "I know what you mean. In the past I was always so excited to get back out on the road again. But now leaving you makes that so difficult to do. Which is why, if my career tanks because I couldn't bear to tour anymore, I'm going to hold you fully responsible."

"Hey, I've tried my best!"

"I know you have. I suppose the upshot to spending so much time apart is that we have an excuse to screw like rabbits when we are together."

* * *

During the last five weeks of her fall tour he _had_ made an effort to see her. The first time was the last weekend of October. He'd arrived in Oklahoma City just before midnight and knocked on her hotel room door. He could tell by her surprise that, although he'd told her of his intentions to come, she didn't fully believe he'd actually made it. They had shocked everyone on the tour bus when he climbed aboard with her the next morning. He felt strangely disoriented the whole weekend. The frenetic pace they kept up was not something he was unfamiliar with through his own work. But their attitude towards it all was alien to him. For as fast as they moved, and as serious as they took their endeavors, they always maintained a level of craziness, of fun and jocularity that left him feeling quite out of sorts. After her show on Saturday night, when she was greeting fans and introduced him to them as her boyfriend, some people wanted _his_ autograph, too. They insisted on taking pictures with both Chris _and_ him. By the time came on Sunday night for him to fly back to DC, he'd had his fill of bar food, late nights, laughter and jokes made at his expense. He was tired and unshaven- but he was grinning from ear to ear. Christine had made the observation, "You grew up way too fast. You've got plenty of experience being a responsible adult. Your problem is, you've never properly learned to have plain, stupid fun." She was right. And he did love the fun, at least in small amounts.

He'd hoped to see her the following weekend as well, but when the time came, he was still bruised and had a swollen lip from having allowed Hotch to kick him while on a case in order to gain access to his firearm. He couldn't let her see him like that; he knew she worried about him when he was in the field. And he was still trying to process in his own mind exactly how he was feeling after shooting that unsub. He'd never taken a human life before. He didn't feel in that moment regret or remorse- it had been a necessary act. He did, however, feel a strange, chilling numbness within him that disturbed him even more. The following week they had a local case, a bad one- a family annihilator- and they'd been forced to work through the weekend. But after they took the case in Maryland, the one in which they had to find and rescue and undercover cop abducted by a hit man, he knew he had to see her. It could have been any one of his team. There was no shortage of psychopathic individuals who would relish the opportunity to harm any law enforcement official- especially a federal agent. It could have been him, and he needed to see her again. She'd moved on to Des Moines by then. It would only be another few days before she ended her fall tour and returned home to Virginia. It didn't matter. She understood, without him having to say it, that he just needed to see her, to hold her and simply to feel connected to and loved by another human being. Usually, she fell asleep before him. That weekend, however, she stayed up through most of the night, stroking his hair like a child's. She never told him he talked in his sleep, nor how it worried her that he should be so disturbed by his work that it haunted his dreams.

They'd been called to Texas the just before Thanksgiving. Thankfully, the case had been resolved quickly. It terrified him that the unsub could be a brilliant, but schizophrenic, man. He wondered if someday that could be him. That could be his destiny. He tried to shut that thought out of his mind; she was home! They arrived back in Quantico late in the evening. Morgan and Garcia exchanged curious glances as they noticed him walking with them to the parking garage instead of the Metro station; he almost never drove to work. But he'd arrived at work knowing he wouldn't be going back to the District when he left. Christine had previously left him a spare key to her home. When he pulled up to the house all the lights were out, so he let himself in and went up to her room as quietly as possible. The moon was almost full, and in its light she looked so sweet and still that he decided just to sit in her chair by the window and watch her. He wasn't aware how long he'd sat there before he started to nod off and when heard her say, "So, are you planning to sit there all night, or were you going to eventually come to bed?"

He smiled. "I didn't think you even knew I was here."

"Well," she said, rolling over to face him, "I heard the key in the door, and you're the only person besides Alex and me with one. Then I recognized the sound of your steps, and I can smell you now."

"Smell me?" He frowned. He didn't think he smelled.

"You always smell like soap, shampoo, deodorant and shaving cream. I like it. Come on now and come to bed." He pulled his clothes off and climbed in beside her. Before long, he was helping her out of the t-shirt and panties she'd gone to bed in. "Now, if you'd told me you were on your way home, I'd have worn something prettier," she teased, wrapping her arms around him.

"There's nothing prettier in the world to me than you, baby doll." He moved her arms so that her hands were by her shoulders and laced his fingers with hers. Pressing his lips to her neck he began to make love to her. Until that moment he hadn't realized how desperately he needed her that night. He needed to feel connected with her like this, to feel human, to feel alive. He needed her to help him feel whole, and to help him erase from himself, even for a short while, the fear that haunted him constantly- that he, too, could fracture like his mother had, like Dr. Bryar had. He needed to feel he was part of something tangible and real, as if in doing so he might stave off madness.

Beneath him she began to writhe and kick as her soft little cries grew louder. "Shhhhh," he warned in her ear, "you'll wake Alex!" But she couldn't- or wouldn't- quiet down. He released one of her arms and put his hand over her mouth, turning her face to the side just as he felt her climax. He allowed himself to surrender to his own orgasm, groaning into the pillow. Eventually he rolled over, pulled her to him and chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking, that as silly and crazy and goofy as you can be, sometimes…sometimes you're the only thing in this world that keeps me sane."

She lay beside him silently for a moment before saying, "I hate your job."

"What? What makes you say that?"

"You work too hard. And you see things no human being could ever be expected to see and stay sane." She propped herself up on one arm and looked him in the eye. "That's it, isn't it? That's why you came here so late, and why you sat in that chair for an hour. You see too much, Spencer." She brushed his hair off his forehead. "I worry about you. I love you. You deserve to be happy."

"You make me happy. Happier than I ever imagined I could be."

"Yeah, well…you're boss is a dick. He pushes you too hard. And I'm going to tell him that if ever meet him."

"And that, my dear, is why I haven't yet introduced you to my colleagues!"

"Because your boss is a dick?"

"Because you'd call him a dick to his face."

"I think I'm right."

"I think you're incorrigible."

* * *

Now as he lay with her in the Super 8 Motel just outside of Hampshire, Illinois, he smiled to himself, and wondered at how much life had changed for him since last spring. The previous Christmas he'd spent alone, vaguely miserable that he'd been forced to take a day off work. This year he'd taken a week off, to travel to this tiny little town to meet the large and crazy family of this wonderfully ridiculous woman with whom he'd just had sex in the middle of the day. He _did_ love his work, but moments like this made him wonder if he'd ever really been that same man who once hated Christmas for making him take a day off. It hadn't been long, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Whachya smilin' about now, Sparky?" she asked, poking him playfully in the side.

"I was just thinking how fortunate we are that this hotel is nearly deserted. You're really loud, you know?"

" _I'm_ loud? Boy, we should make a sex tape sometime so that you can listen to your own damn self!"

"Oh no! We are definitely _not_ doing that!"

"You're probably right. My stomach would probably turn if I watched myself, and I see myself naked in the mirror every day."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're beautiful. I'm the weird looking one."

"Oh, hush! I've told you before, you're perfect enough to be a runway model." She laughed and added, "You do make some pretty entertaining faces when you're cumming, though."

"Yeah? Well, so do you!"

"I do?"

He sighed. "No, not really. You're always beautiful." He squeezed her so that she giggled and squirmed in his embrace. Before long, they were making love again.

* * *

That evening they went to visit Christine's maternal grandparents, the Petersens. Spencer found them to be remarkably warm people. After they'd all exchanged pleasantries and chatted a bit, her Grandpa Pete sent Christine and her grandmother to the kitchen to fetch some refreshments saying, "Looks to me you haven't been feeding this young man properly. You girls had best get something to fatten him up!" Once they were out of the room the old gentleman leaned forward and said in his deep, gravely voice, "So tell me about yourself, young man."

Spencer cleared his throat and began, "I hold degrees in-"

The old man cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I don't need to know all that. I already know you're smart. My little Crystal wouldn't be with a man who couldn't keep up with her. I want you to tell me what kind of a man you are." Spencer hesitated, at a loss. "Tell me about you family. You have brothers or sisters?"

"No sir."

"What about your parents? You have parents? Are they together?"

He swallowed hard and said, "My parents are divorced. My father's an attorney, and my mother was a literature professor at UNLV."

"Was. Huh. Has she passed?"

"No sir. She retired due to chronic illness."

"There's something to that there. How is she? Who looks after her?"

Spencer looked into his eyes. As old as he was, he was sharp. He wouldn't relent until he had the truth. So Spencer sighed and said, "She's…she has schizophrenia. She's in a residential care facility for the mentally ill." He paused for a moment, staring at his hands and continued, "I know it sounds terrible. I'm…I looked into a lot of places and finally decided upon Bennington because they provide excellent care. It's clean and homelike. They have beautiful grounds. I…I wish I could keep her with me, but…"

The older man put his hand on Spencer's arm and said, "Look at me, boy. Now, you listen to me. There is no shame in being sick, or loving someone who is. No one in the world asks to be sick, and it's no one's fault. You hear me? But I can tell you love her and have done your level best to take care of her. You know what that makes you? That makes you a _good_ son. And a good man. I couldn't give a damn how smart you are. But I want to see my girl with a man of character." He leaned back in his chair. "I can take one look at you and see you're not a very strong man. But there are a lot of strong men in this world that don't amount to anything. But a man with a character and heart? That's the kind of man for our little girl. Yes. You'll do." He called out to the ladies, "Crystal! Girl, bring me my gin and tonic. Bring one for your fella, too." Turning back to Spencer he asked, "Have you met my daughter Marie yet?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did you think of her?"

"She's…an impressive woman."

"She's a battleaxe, you mean. No need to mince words. I know how she is. She's tough, but that's because she hasn't had an easy row to hoe. Perhaps it's my fault, too. I was too busy when I was a young man to spend much time with that one. She never learned how to be soft because I was always hard with her. She's a good person though. Just take everything she says with a grain of salt."

A moment later Christine came in with two glasses. Spencer took the one offered him but was unable to keep from making a face when he caught a whiff of the drink. "Go on, drink up," Christine urged. "It smells like Pine-Sol, but I promise it won't kill ya. Not that little bit, anyway."

Spencer took a sip and coughed a little, which drew laughter from both of them. Her grandpa slapped him on the back and said, "See that? That's a good man, there, girl. You don't want a man who drinks too much, but you can't trust a teetotaler, either! Now, go help your grandma with those cookies, girl!"

* * *

Over the next few days Spencer and Christine visited some old friends of hers in the city and did some last minute Christmas shopping. On Christmas Eve they went back to her Grandma and Grandpa Pete's. In addition to being informed by them that he was not to address them as Mr. and Mrs. Petersen, nor as Maynard and Genevieve, but rather as Grandpa and Grandma ("Just go with it," Christine had whispered in his ear when they insisted upon this, "that's what all my friends call them.") he found himself being led about by the arm by Christine's mother who proudly introduced him to all the extended family as Christine's boyfriend, _Doctor_ Spencer Reid, a _Supervisory_ Special Agent with the FBI. "I told you she'd love you- it's like you're the prized hog that just won her the blue ribbon at the 4-H fair," Christine had laughed.

The profiler in him analyzed their family dynamics with fascination. Christine's eldest brother, Wes, was a military man. He was disciplined, dignified and fastidious in his appearance and manners. But he was also surprisingly warm and funny, a loving husband and an affectionate father. After hearing Christine's descriptions of their interactions, he found this surprising. He deduced that, due to the 13 year age gap between them, they'd never really spent much time together growing, and that in the years they had lived together Wes had been primarily her baby sitter, and perhaps an overly harsh one. She couldn't see him for the man he was now, and he didn't know how to relate to her as a grown woman instead to the small child she'd first known. Patsy was 11 years older than her. She was kind, gracious and nurturing. Though she had an MBA, she'd left the corporate world years prior after moving to Colorado Springs with her husband, and had returned to school to study education. She was now the principal of a small parochial school, a field she likely chose after being told she and her husband were unable to conceive. Joe was there too of course, with his girlfriend, Laurie.

And then there was Cori. From the moment their mother had introduced him, she either chose not to or was incapable of hiding her disdain. She was a stay-at-home mother of two and was pregnant with her third. Her husband was a firefighter, an affable, amiable man, and her two children were extremely well behaved. Spencer suspected this came from being raised in the care of a mother with a sharp tongue and short temper. She was every bit the beauty Christine had told him she was- she was the tallest of the daughters, with wavy, chestnut hair, bright green eyes and dimples. She was also the only one of the five siblings who had stayed close to home, and was particularly close with their mother. But she clearly avoided Christine, wouldn't acknowledge her Christmas greetings, and once Cori knew Spencer was with her, she avoided speaking to or acknowledging him unless it was unavoidable. It might have been easy to attribute this to jealousy- Christine had the quick wit, education, and personal professional success she herself lacked. Christine also had a easier, freer way about her that enabled her to draw people into conversation and make friends quickly. But it wasn't simple jealousy of Christine that was at play. There was a kind of meanness, a _hardness_ , to her that set Spencer ill at ease. He wondered what could possibly have happened to Cori that made her so fundamentally different from the other siblings. But he didn't mind much that she showed no interest in getting to know him- she was unpleasant at best.

There was food and wine and jokes about still being stuck at the kiddie table as grown adults over dinner. Her cousins were all so accepting of him that he quickly felt almost as if he were already family. Afterwards they moved to the living room, where each generation took turns for photos in front of the tree. There were piles of presents for the youngest generation, and small tokens from the adults to one another. He himself received a couple of coffee mugs from different cousins' home towns, a box of 9mm cartridges, some homemade raspberry jam, a tie, a bottle of bourbon, and three separate gift bags containing nothing but several pairs of brightly colored dress socks. The last gift he received was from Grandpa Pete. He pulled off the ribbons and bow, the later of which one of Christine's nieces stuck on his head with a giggle, calling him, "Uncle" Spencer, tore off the paper and removed from the box an old 35mm camera. "That's a Zeiss," Grandpa explained. "My uncle brought it back from Germany in 1937, before all hell broke loose. It was the Depression, you know, and I never saw such a pretty camera in my life. You find some film for that and send us back some pictures of our girl. We never get enough of those. You'll do that for us, won't you?"

"Yes," he replied, "yes, of course I will. This is too kind of you…I don't know what to…thank you very much, sir."

"Grandpa," he corrected.

"Grandpa," Spencer repeated with a smile.

* * *

The next morning he was warm and sound asleep in bed when Christine took a running leap and landed beside him crying out, "Wake up! It's Christmas! It's Christmas! Look! Santa came for you!"

He sat up, rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses. "Wow, for me?"

"They all say Spencer! You must have been a good boy this year!"

He looked at the tags on the small boxes she brought him and joked, "Oh, look! Santa has the same handwriting as you!"

"I know, right? That's a sign of his awesomeness right there."

He weighed the first box in his hand and remarked, "Gee, I have no idea what this could be…oh look! More ammo!"

"I think Santa knows you need more practice."

"And this one is…film!"

"Santa may have known something about the camera, too."

The last one was light in his hands. "Let me guess…Santa thought I needed more socks, too?"

"I don't know, you'd better check…"

"Oh, wow! Mittens!"

"Awesome! They're big, fuzzy, warm ones, too! I bet they'll keep those long, spindly fingers of yours nice and toasty."

"I'm sure of it." He reached out to pull her in for a kiss. "You'll have to pass on my thanks to Santa next time you see him."

"Absolutely. I also got you something for Christmas, but I'll give that to you at home."

"I can't wait. I got you something, too. But you'll have to wait until we unwrap presents with your family. Cori said everyone is meeting at 8:00am, correct?"

"That's what she said! So, up! We don't want to be late!"

They loaded up the car with the gifts and pulled up to her parent's house just before 8:00. "Wow, even Cori beat us here. That…never happens. She's always late."

"There's a first time for everything, they say." They entered the house with their armfuls of presents and shouts of "Merry Christmas", and stopped short as they came around the corner to the living room.

Everyone was already halfway through opening their gifts. "Where have you been, you two?" her mother asked. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago. We couldn't ask the little ones to wait for you, not on Christmas morning."

"But…we were told 8:00! It's not even that yet!" Christine protested.

"We always start at 7:00. You should know that!" he mother chastised.

"I know, but that's why I asked Cori last night to be sure. She said you told her 8:00!"

"Oh, I did not! I told you 7:00, the same as every year!"

"But I heard…Spencer, what did you hear?"

"I heard 8:00, too."

"Well, looks like neither of you is quite the genius you want everyone to think you are, huh?" Cori smirked.

"Whatever," Christine mumbled. "Merry Christmas. Here's your stuff. Come and get it," she said, leaving everything unceremoniously in the middle of the floor and turning to find a seat in the corner of the room. Spencer laid his packages down somewhat more graciously and sat beside her. He squeezed her knee. He couldn't tell if she was more angry, embarrassed or hurt at being made the victim of her sister's prank, but her hands shook, and he worried.

As her nieces and nephews tore into their presents with cries of, "Thank you Auntie Chris and Uncle Spencer." Chris barely acknowledged them with a weak smile and a nod.

After several minutes Cori spoke up, saying, "Oh, for God's sake, Cwithy! Stop pouting like such a baby. Pay attention to someone other than yourself for once. You always act like the whole world has to revolve around you. Well, it doesn't. Pay attention to the kids for a change like an adult would. Even if you couldn't be bothered to show up on time like everyone else, at least you could pretend like you care about them now." Christine got up and left the room as Cori called after her, "Oh, how typical. You're such a drama queen. You're just never happy until you're the center of attention, aren't you?"

"Corinne May! That's enough! How dare you speak like that in front of these children about their aunt!" Their father's voice was low, but it was hard enough to make Cori shut her mouth.

Spencer got up and went down the hall to find Christine. He knocked on the bathroom door and got no response. "Dear, it's me," he said softly. "May I come in?" He heard the door unlock and he entered. She sat on the counter holding a tissue up to her red, blotchy face. "What's wrong, baby doll?"

"What's wrong is that everyone hates me," she sobbed miserably. "I screwed up everyone's Christmas because I'm too stupid to get the times right. And they all think I'm still just a lazy, stupid, selfish little kid. I can't even get Christmas right."

"Dear, look at me. There is not one person out there who thinks that of you. Not one. Everyone knows what Cori did. And all that means is that they think she's mean for doing that to you. But no one thinks it was your fault. No one has a problem with you. Your family loves you. They just want to enjoy some time with you now. That's all. And they're probably all sad right now that you're in here crying. Come on, baby doll," he said, putting his arms around her. "No one's mad at you or thinks you're a bad person. I promise. Okay? Will you come back with me?"

She blew her nose and nodded. "Just gimme a moment." She splashed some cold water on her face and dried it. "I still feel like an asshole, but if you say so, then alright. Let's go."

The ladies put dinner together whilst the men and children watched Christmas movies. At noon they all gathered, said grace and dug in. After the dinner dishes were cleared they sat and chatted, waiting for the coffee to brew before having desert. While the kids laughed and ran around the kiddie table in the other room, they adults talked about the gifts they'd given one another that morning. When he mentioned he'd received the film for the camera, Christine commented, "Although it's me that should be taking pictures of him. I mean, look at that smile. He should be on the cover of GQ with a smile like that."

He shook his head and they all laughed good-naturedly until Cori chimed in. "She's right, you know. Why a man like you settled for a dumpy little redheaded pudge like her I'll never know. But I suppose now that she starting to make a little money she really _can_ buy just about anything."

When he heard this, Spencer's mouth fell open. He looked at the other faces around the table. They'd all fallen into awkward silence, so that the only sounds were those of the children in the other room squealing and giggling and calling to one another. Lastly, he looked at Christine who sat to his right staring down at her plate, miserable. Again. Turning back to the others, he smiled as winningly as possible and broke the silence by saying, "Have I even told you why I do what I do? I know I've told you _what_ I do. But I don't believe I've ever told you _why_. It's an interesting story. You see, when I was sixteen, Joe invited me to a little party. I found after I got there it was a surprise party for Chris' 18th birthday. There were only a few of us invited. Of course, you all know how much she dislikes birthdays, right? So, at one point she went out and sat on the balcony alone, and I went to talk to her because I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to leave her own birthday party. It was then that I found out about her diagnosis, that she'd been feeling sick, losing her hair, and was facing the very real possibility that that might be her last birthday. And as we talked, she asked me what was the first thing I ever dreamed of being when I was little. I told he that like any little boy, I once wanted to be Superman. And to my surprise, she didn't laugh. She just told me that she believed I could do it. I could do something great to help people, defend the weak and uphold justice. I thought she was being ridiculous. But years later, when I was still trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, I met some agents from the Bureau who had come to recruit on campus and I suddenly remembered what she'd told me. So I applied to the academy. I'll be the first to admit I'm not prime FBI material. Physically, I just couldn't handle the training. But somehow, I made it through and was assigned to a job I love. I have never felt such a strong calling in my life to do anything as I feel called now to work with the BAU.

"And as much as I wanted each of you to like and accept me after we met, I would be remiss in my duties and untrue to that calling if I sat by idly now and let someone hurt someone else now and not say or do anything to stop it. Today is Christmas- _Christmas_ for pity's sake!- and your little prank this morning, Corinne, resulted in your own _sister_ spending part of Christmas morning sitting in the bathroom in tears. And don't you dare say it was a mistake or that both she and I misheard you. That's a lie that not one single person at this table believes. And now you've gone and spoiled everyone's dinner because of your own meanness and cruelty. I'll have you know that your sister _is_ a beautiful woman. She's also brilliant, talented, successful and has dedicated her life to a career that involves bringing happiness to others. Before you and I met, she praised you for your great beauty. She told me she wished she could be more like you. But I am beyond grateful she is nothing like you. Because not only do I love her pretty red hair and freckled face, I love the fact that she is as beautiful inwardly as she is outwardly. And from where I'm sitting, the only truly ugly person in this room is you."

He paused for a long moment, staring her directly in the eye. He could tell from the silence of the others that they were all looking at him now. Finally he sat back, turned to Christine's parents and said, "I do appreciate and thank you for your hospitality. Dinner was wonderful. Perhaps it is best I leave now so that I may not spoil the rest of your holiday."

He started to stand when Wes grabbed his left arm firmly and forced him back into his seat. "No. We want you to stay."

Cori's mouth fell open. "Did you hear what he just-"

"Oh, shut up, Cori!" Patsy snapped. "You're the one who tried to ruin Christmas. He's the one who finally had the courage to say what we've all thought for years. We've all lived in fear of setting you off. Thank God we finally found someone who's not."

Cori got up, grabbed her coat, and ran outside to sit in her truck. Most eyes turned to her husband Kevin. "What's everybody looking at me for? She's just…" he sighed. "You guys know how she is. She needs to cool off. Well, she'll get plenty of that in the truck. But the kids are having fun and I haven't had any of that cake yet, Marie. Is the coffee ready?"

* * *

Just after midnight, Christine, Spencer and Alex pulled up to the farm and dragged their luggage to their rooms. It had been a rush after dinner to get to the airport, fight their way through the crowd at O'Hare and make their flight. After they said goodnight to Alex, they shut the door to their own room and finally finding themselves alone together, Christine threw her arms around Spencer. "What's this for?" he asked, stroking her hair.

"For being wonderful. For loving me. For being my very own superhero."

"I'm hardly that," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"You are to me."

After a long hug, he released her and said, "Why don't you go ahead and get ready for bed. I'll unpack."

"It's late. Leave it."

"Well, let me just take care of these few things." He gathered up the dirty clothes and put them in the hamper while she changed. Then he took their toiletries to the bathroom and was putting them away when he noticed a box in the back of the cabinet he hadn't seen before. He pulled it out and stepped back, leaning against the wall for support. For what seemed like a long while he forgot to breathe. She had told him she had a present waiting for him at home. Was this it? He looked up and saw himself smiling in the mirror, holding the box. It had contained two pregnancy tests. It had been opened. And one was missing.

* * *

A/N added 4/29/2016

The episodes referenced in this chapter are as follows:

L.D.S.K.- in this episode, Reid and Hotch are held at gunpoint. In order to give Reid an opportunity to gain access to the pistol he carries strapped to his leg, Hotch tells the unsub he hates Reid and requests the chance to take out his frustrations on him by kicking him repeatedly. Reid manages to get Hotch's gun and kills the unsub, which is his first fatal shooting.

The Fox

Natural Born Killer- an undercover agent attempting to infiltrate the mafia is kidnapped by a professional hit man. In this episode it is also revealed that, like the unsub, Hotch himself was the son of a physically abusive alcoholic father (this fact is brought up in a subsequent chapter of this story).

Derailed- Elle is taken hostage aboard a train in Texas by a brilliant physicist who suffers from schizophrenia. Reid is sent aboard the train in an attempt to get the man to release the hostages but is himself taken hostage as well.

For those outside the US, our Thanksgiving Day falls each year on the Thursday of the third full week in November.

For anyone who hasn't had the pleasure of experiencing winter in Chicago or rural Northern Illinois I can assure you- it can be cold. Brutally, viciously cold. If you're looking for a place to visit in the winter, I recommend Honolulu instead.


	9. Chapter 9

"Sweetheart, leave the rest till morning, will ya?" she called from the bedroom. "I know you're kinda OCD, but it's late and I'm tired. Just come to bed."

Spencer put the box back in the cabinet and flipped off the bathroom light. "I'm sorry, baby doll," he said, crossing the room to hold her. "Of course you're tired. You need your rest now."

"What's got you smiling like a Cheshire Cat, hmm?"

"Just you. You look so lovely tonight." He kissed her softly and rested his forehead against hers. "You know, you never did give me my Christmas present…"

"You're right. I didn't. But right now. I'm too exhausted to deal with that. So you're just going to have to wait until tomorrow."

"Oh, but I think I might know what it is."

"No, I'm pretty sure you don't."

"Well, if that's the game you want to play, then so be it. I can wait until morning." They turned out the lights and climbed in bed. For the first time since they'd become physically intimate, they went to sleep without having sex. He simply held her until she fell asleep in his arms. He smiled in the dark, enjoying the scent of her hair. He laid one hand on her belly, imagining his child- _their_ child- was already growing there. Of course she needed her rest. Pregnancy was draining on a woman. Had he known of her condition earlier, he'd have been more mindful of her need for rest and not bothered her all night for sex. True, she never seemed bothered. In fact, she was just as likely as he to initiate it. But now he would do better by her and show her he could be as dedicated a father as he was a lover.

A baby! He'd always known he wanted children. Perhaps it was because he felt a kind of emptiness growing up as an only child, without any siblings to help nurture and care for. And probably it was also because he was determined to prove he could be the kind of parent he never had after his father left and his mother's condition deteriorated. He'd dreamed of being a father ever since he could remember, but as he got older he'd all but lost hope that he'd ever find the right woman with whom to have children. Then everything in his life changed so suddenly last spring, when he ran into Joe by chance and went on that blind date he was sure would be a disaster.

Now here he was, not even a year later, lying in bed with this amazing lady, dreaming of starting a family with her. He felt so full of happiness he thought his heart might burst. He knew he should be content with the child, whatever it may be, and wish only for it to be healthy, with all ten fingers and all ten toes. But truthfully, he wanted a girl, a pretty little blue eyed daughter with bright red hair just like her mother. He pulled Christine a little closer too him, causing her to murmur in her sleep. He kissed her shoulder and fell into a deep, contented sleep.

The next morning he was awoken by the smell of the coffee she brought into the room and sat on the nightstand beside him. He sat up, put on his glasses and reached for it. As he took a sip, he saw that she had a mug of her own. "Are you drinking coffee, too?"

"Yeah, I needed more of a kick this morning than tea could give me," she said nonchalantly as she disappeared into her closet. She couldn't see by the look on his face that he was displeased with the idea of her consuming so much caffeine. She had a medical degree, after all- she should know better.

"So, are you finally going to give me my Christmas present?" he asked.

"Geez, Spencer! You are relentless, aren't you? At least let me get dressed first."

"Well…on what I'm sure is a completely unrelated note, I should probably tell you that I found something interesting in your bathroom last night while I was unpacking."

"Oh yeah? What did you find? I hope it's that pair of nail clippers I lost. I've been wondering where those went."

He smiled at her still trying to play this game with him. "Yeah. I found the box of pregnancy tests. I couldn't help but notice one was missing."

"Oh that? Yeah, don't worry about that. False alarm and crisis averted, thank God! I'm sorry if that scared you. I never mentioned it because, you know- no harm, no foul."

His heart fell like a stone. False alarm? But he'd felt so sure! He felt like the breath had been knocked out of his chest. "Are…are you sure?"

"Yep, very. That was about a month ago. I was like, a day late, so I kinda freaked out. I figure it was just the stress of the tour and all the shitty food I eat on the road that threw me out of whack. I mean, the efficacy rate is over 99.6% with oral contraceptives, but it would be just my rotten luck if I'd been in the unlucky 0.4%, you know?" She came out of the closet and sat down at her dressing table without even pausing to look at him. "God, could you imagine? Ugh…that's the last thing either of us would want."

"Oh…I don't know…I mean, it wouldn't be _that_ bad. You know, Chris, if that ever did happen, you…you could count on me. You wouldn't have to do anything alone. I'd do anything you wanted me to do. I would definitely help raise a child- I'd be the best father I could. And if you wanted to, I…well, I'd ask you-"

"Ask me what? To marry you? To hide my shame and make an honest woman out of me?" She laughed. "God forbid. Why any woman would ever be so stupid as to want to burden herself like that is beyond-" she stopped, having finally caught sight of his face in the mirror. She turned around. "Oh, good Lord. That's what you want, isn't it? You want pretty little wife who will give you 2.5 children you can raise a cookie-cutter house in some bland suburb with an idiotic name like Pinebrook Terrance Ridge, where everyone drives around in the same damned ugly SUV and they all try to look perfect for their annual Christmas card picture. But you wanna know what those people are all like behind closed doors? The wives are bored out of their minds and so unfulfilled that they pop pills, hit the bottle and screw the handyman just try and feel _something_. The husbands never notice that shit because they're all too busy thinking about the next time they get to fuck the big-tittied admin assistant in the supply room at work, and all the while their son Tommy is either getting stoned or plotting a school shooting in the basement, while little Suzy's upstairs cutting herself or getting pregnant because their parents are too busy being miserable to give a damn about raising their own kids. Marriage and kids isn't a dream, Spencer. It's a nightmare. One I hope I never have."

He sat in bed, holding his coffee in both hands. "Not all families end up like that. Yours didn't."

"No, you're right. My parents stayed together, and none of us kids are _completely_ messed up. Doesn't mean it was fantastic. My mom quit nursing to stay home with Wes, Patsy and Cori. And when Joe was old enough to start preschool she was able to go back to work and resume a meaningful career. Then dammit all if I didn't come along and nearly screw it all up for her. Know how long she stayed home with me? A whole four weeks. Four fucking weeks. That's all I was worth to her. Then she dumped me on babysitters and my siblings and made me their problem. All my other siblings got memories of her making them homemade play-doh to play with, taking them fishing, and teaching them how to bowl. She made scrapbooks and took pictures and threw all of them wonderful birthday parties. Know how many birthday parties I got? One. When I was seven. And that was only because my Aunt Wendy threw it for me. Mom wasn't even there because she had to work. You and me, we love our jobs. I'm not willing to give mine up. Are you? Of course not. Because if you had to leave that job to spend your days changing diapers, pushing a stroller, and trying to teach a kid not to eat dirt out of the flower pot you'd lose your fucking mind! Your mom was sick, but at least she was there for you. You know what it feels like when your parents are too busy to give a damn? You spend your entire childhood convinced that your parents spend all their time at work because they'd rather do anything else other than spend time with you. Look at yourself. It's been almost 15 years since your father left and you're still so messed up and pissed off you can't even mention his name. See, people make babies thinking that…that…they'll be a nice addition to _their_ lives. They think of their kids as if they're accessories that can be created to enhance their own personal happiness. They hardly ever stop and think that kids are innocent, precious human beings, and that once they're brought into this world the parents' lives have to stop and be rearranged around their children, not the other way around. Kids deserve that. At least I have the good sense to know I'm not ready and willing to do that. I don't think I ever will be. And I will never intentionally bring a child into this world knowing that there's a damned good chance that kid will grow up feeling like a miserable, unloved, unwanted burden on my life. Because that's _exactly_ how I felt."

He sat and stared silently at her for a long moment, feeling a dull, throbbing ache in his chest. Part of him wanted to cry and plead with her. Instead he said simply, "No child of mine would ever doubt _my_ love. Besides, you have to know your parents love you. I've barely met them and it's clear to me…"

She sat down next to him with a sigh. "The older I get the more I can understand that rationally and objectively. But that's not how kids think when they're still just kids. Kids only know that when they're around and their parents aren't, that they're lonely, that no one is paying attention to them, and that no one seems to give a rat's ass about them. Besides," she said, moving to sit along side him and putting her head on his shoulder, "you _really_ don't want to have kids with me."

"I don't? Why, should I find someone else who's less intelligent and talented and whom I don't love?"

"Think about it. Any kid of ours will have our combined genetic traits. He'd be as blind as a naked mole rat. He'd be a know-it-all like you and unable to shut up about it like me. He'd have curly, unmanageable hair, and with my bad luck he'd end up with red hair and freckles besides. Do you have any idea what kind of hellish existence that child would have? He'd be the ultimate schoolyard punching bag. It would be cruel of us to bring a child like that into the world."

As much as she'd just hurt him by crushing his hopes of starting a family, she had a way of making him laugh no matter what pain he felt, and he smiled. "See, that's where you're wrong."

"How? You know I'm right. That's exactly how a kid of ours would turn out."

"No. Because you're assuming our child would be male. We could have a daughter, you know. Just imagine how sweet and pretty she'd be with her little red curls and big blue eyes. And those freckles are adorable and you know it," he said, teasingly running his index finger over her cheeks and the tip of her nose. He set his coffee down and put his arms around her. "You know, among my other eccentricities I do have a mild form arithmomania."

"Ah yes, you love to count, don't you?"

"I can't help it, really. It's a compulsion." He kissed her and continued, "And right now, I'm thinking about how much I'd like to try and count every freckle on your body."

She giggled and raised her arms above her head as he lifted off her t-shirt, then laid her on her back to pull down her jeans and panties. "Well, I will tell you," she laughed, "as much as I abhor the idea of ever actually getting pregnant, I _love_ practicing doing it with…whoa!" As usual, she exclaimed loudly and enthusiastically when he thrust into her.

"Shhhhh! Hey, Alex is just down the hall, remember? Don't make me muzzle you again…" He'd been in such a hurry to take her he hadn't bothered to get undressed. Now as they made love she was unbuttoning his pajama top whilst using her feet to somehow push his bottoms down and off him. There was always something about her silly, goofy, crazy ways of being sexy that he found positively intoxicating, capable of taking away any pain once he surrendered to it, as he now did with abandon. As they lay panting afterwards in each other's arms, they both heard the floorboards creak outside their room. Christine clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter as he whispered furiously in her ear, "You hear that? Alex just heard the whole thing!"

"Well, good for her! I'm sure it gave her a special little thrill this morning!"

"You're terrible! I don't want anyone else knowing every little detail of our intimate relationship!"

"If I'm terrible, then you're a prude- and a hypocrite! Do you really believe that girl thinks that once we're alone in bed together we _don't_ have sex? That we just lay here fully clothed, quietly respecting one another?"

"That doesn't mean we need to put on a show for her. It's embarrassing!"

"Seems to me any other guy would be glad she heard that. All my screaming and squealing does is tell her you're a demon in the sack. You should be proud! Although…" she lay silent for a moment then sat up and put her arms around her knees.

Suddenly worried, he sat up beside her and asked, "Although what?"

"I was thinking that, well…that you're probably thinking about breaking up with me now."

"What? No. Why would I? I love you."

"Why would you stay with me? I mean, it seems to me like we want very different things out of life, and more specifically, out of this relationship. You see your life leading you down a path to marriage and children and I...don't."

"I can appreciate if you're not ready for these things. We're still both really young. We don't have to decide anything permanent now…"

"Yeah, but Spencer, see," she sighed, trying to find the right words. "You see, it's not just _now_. I don't know if I'll _ever_ be ready for that. It's just not how I envisioned my life turning out. All I've ever wanted was a career I enjoyed, which I have. And I hoped I'd have eventually someone in my life I loved and who could enjoy the ride with me. But I never wanted to get married…"

He raised his eyebrows. "You never even want to get married? Ever?"

"Sweetheart, it's not about you. I love you. I adore you! I could see myself living happily with you forever. But the whole concept of marriage is just so…you know, I've always thought it was so limiting and demeaning to women in our society. Think about it. Historically, women have been viewed as the possessions of men, first of their fathers, then of their husbands, bought and traded for dowries and bride-prices. Their value was only in what it could bring a man in terms of property and children. They were regarded as little better than livestock. Even today a traditional ceremony involves a bride being handed by her father over to another man who's name she's expected to take, as though once married she's no longer free to exist as an independent human being. It's as if, from the moment she gets that ring on her finger, her entire identity is transformed from being whoever she wants to be into only being what he requires or permits her to be. And there's this huge industry built around it, as if after burying a woman under mounds of flowers and a fluffy white dress, letting her ride around the block a few times in a rented limo and throwing her a party with a cake that tastes like cardboard she'll be blinded to the fact that her life is over. She no longer exists. All she will henceforth ever be is Mrs. So-and-so."

"I…I can't even believe you're saying this to me. Is that really what you think? Do you honestly believe that I would treat you like that- that I have so little respect for who you are that I would ever do anything but love and support you in whatever path you chose to follow?"

"Well, but-"

"No, Christine. There are no buts here. You do know that I love you. That I would do anything for you. That I admire you, I respect you and that I understand how important your career is to you. How dare you suggest otherwise!"

"You don't need to get angry…"

"I am angry! I'm also hurt and insulted right now! Do you think that all this time we've been together, everything we've shared- and just now, in bed here- do you think that means nothing to me? That this has all been part of some nefarious plot to trap you into lifelong servitude?"

"No, I don't, but Spencer- stop and think. Clearly you have a plan for happiness in your life that eventually involves not only marriage but also children. I don't. And I'll be honest- I was planning on asking you if you wanted to move in once your lease was up, because to me, it's not only practical but, well…I just like it better when you're here. I want to have a life with you. I like spending time with you. It's not all about sex. I like it even when we're just in the same room together. You can be reading, I'll be writing…we don't even have to say a single word and I'm just so happy because you're near me."

"I feel the same way."

"And that may be enough for you now. And that may be enough for you next year, and the next year, and for a decade from now. But think about it- what is going to happen when we're both older, when my chance to ever have children has passed and I still haven't changed my mind about it? What if you wake up one morning and realize that the one last thing you need in life to truly make you feel happy and complete is a child I never gave you? You'll look at me and think to yourself that I stole your chance for happiness. And then you'll hate me."

He looked at her for a while and said softly, "But I could never hate you."

"But if you want children that badly, some day you will."

"No. No, that couldn't happen."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I don't love you because I see you as a potential breeding partner. I love you because…because you're you. And having children…well, I think it would be wonderful. But only if I could do it with the woman I love. It wouldn't mean anything if I couldn't share that experience with you." He brushed her hair back from her face as she laid her head against him and noticed her cheek was wet. "Come on. What's got you crying now?"

"Well, a couple of things. First, I'm afraid I might be in love with the dumbest smart guy I've ever met."

He laughed. "Then you're in good company, because I'm in love with the craziest person I've ever met. And remember- I know, because I do crazy for a living."

She elbowed him playfully in the side. "I'm also sad now because I thought I'd found you a really cool Christmas present. But now after all this it just seems kinda stupid."

He hugged her tightly. "Oh, I'm sure it's perfect. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten ahead of myself and started talking about all these things. I'm glad we did talk about it, though. And just so you know, if you ever do change your mind, well…I'd marry you. You'll just have to let me know."

She stood up and smiled. "Well, don't hold your breath. And get up and get dressed- it's in the library."

He did so, and when she went to use the bathroom, he watched until the door was closed behind her and turned back to the bed. Reaching under the mattress, he pulled out the small jewelry box he'd hidden there. He looked at it for a moment then quickly hid it in his suitcase, thankful now that he hadn't given it to her in front of her family, and wondering if the day would ever come when he could give it to her.

The library had been finished, and in Spencer's eyes it was the loveliest room in the house. He couldn't resist asking her, "Were you serious when you said you wanted me to move in?"

"Yes. Like I said, most of all, I just like having you around. But practically speaking, it just makes sense. It's a shorter commute for you than living in the district. You could save the money on rent because, let's face it- you're over here more often than not. Alex adores you…"

"Really? She's so quiet. I'm never quite sure about her…"

"You know what she told me the first time she met you? She thought you were nice because you have manners."

He smiled. "Well, I like her, too. She's a good kid."

"She is. And I think you'll be a good role model for her. I think she sees you like an older brother or even a father figure, and she's never really had any good men in her life."

"That's too bad. Anyway, my lease ends in February, so if the offer still stands, I think I'll take you up on it."

"You just want this library all for your own, don't you?"

"You know me too well."

"Well, sit, boy. Maybe this will help you feel at home here." She handed him a large unwrapped box with a bow on top and "To: You / From: Me" scrawled across it with a Sharpie marker.

"Wow. Looks like you even wrapped it yourself," he teased, turning the box around and reading it. "And I've always wanted my very own crock pot. How touching."

"Yeah, see that? Can I pick 'em or what? Now open the damned box, smart ass."

"Have you got a knife or something? Really, Christine- who seals a Christmas present with duct tape?"

"It's all I could find!" She rummaged around in the desk in the corner and handed him a letter opener. "Here. Try this."

It took him a minute or two of stabbing at it to finally be able to open the top. After pulling out handfuls of crumpled newspaper he stopped and stared. "Oh, wow," he said, lifting it out to admire it.

"You like it? I had Brad make it."

"It's amazing!"

"I think so. He drew the design free hand." It was a handmade stained glass lampshade with the Dr. Who logo on one side, a tardis on the other, and daleks in between. "I've got a lamp there you can put it on so you can sit in here and use it when you read."

"You mentioned he had talent for this, but this is…it's remarkable."

"And one of a kind!"

"Thank you so much, baby doll. I love it. I really do. It's perfect."

"So…you said you had something for me…"

"Oh, that…well…I know I said I was going to give it to you at your parents', but there was all that drama with your sister and to be honest, I realized I had forgotten it at home and just didn't have the heart to tell you then."

" _You_ forgot something?"

"Yes. You're a terrible distraction to me."

From the doorway they heard, "Oh, you gave it to him? Do you like it, Spencer?"

"Yes, Alex, I do! Isn't it great?"

"I guess it's pretty cool," she said. "All those little creepy robot thingies kind of freak me out, but Chris said you love that show."

"I do. I can't believe neither of you watch it. Someday I'll sit you both down and force you to watch it with me. You'll understand then."

"I doubt it, but you can try," Christine answered.

"Yeah, I'm kind of on her side on this one, but anyway, I wanted to tell you guys I'm making pancakes. Want any?"

They both answered enthusiastically and as they walked out of the library past her, Alex caught Christine and whispered in her ear with a giggle, "Hey, I heard you two this morning getting-"

"Yes, you nosy little brat, I know exactly what you heard. We could hear you in the hall!"

"Sounded like a good way to start the day to me!"

Christine laughed. "It was fan-fucking-tastic way to start the day. But zip it, would you? Spencer was mortified when he realized you'd heard all that."

"Why? Sounded to me like he had as much fun as you!"

"Shhh! Now go- you'd better start another pot of coffee. You know how he is!"

* * *

The following day would be the 27th, and Spencer would have to return to work. They made the decision in the afternoon to return to his apartment and gather some fresh work clothes. Alex tagged along out of curiosity- and because of Spencer had promised to treat them to dinner after taking them to an shelter to play with the animals. "But we're not adopting one today," Christine warned. "It's a big decision, and we're leaving again in four weeks. So let's just talk to the folks today, hear me? We'll just _ask_ them if they think it's okay to get an animal that is eventually going to have to travel with us."

From the back seat Alex perked up. "You'd let me bring a pet with?"

" _If_ we get a pet _eventually_ \- not today!- I think we'd have to, do you? It don't think it would be very kind to get it and then just kennel it half the year, do you? But I'm not sure how an animal would react to living on a bus and in hotel rooms. Some might be able to handle it, but some might not. We'll just have to see what the experts there think about our situation."

Alex let out a little squeal. When they stopped at the animal shelter and got out, she caught Spencer's arm and whispered, "You gotta help me out with her! I really, really, really want a kitty!"

"Don't worry. I'm pretty sure you've already won that battle." Both he and Christine watched as Alex went skipping and running and jumping and giggling across the parking lot into the shelter.

"Oh, dear God," she said. "I'm going to be taking a cat on that bus with us, aren't I?"

"Yep."

* * *

The next morning the alarm Spencer had brought from his apartment went off at 6:15am. While he was still yawning and starting to sit up, Christine was already reaching across him trying to grab the clock. He caught her arm and she complained, "Lemme go. I'm gonna kill that motherfucker."

"No. You will not. Just go back to sleep."

"Lord knows we didn't do much of that last night," she muttered, rolling over and pulling the covers up.

"No, we certainly did not," he replied, bending over to kiss her cheek before getting up to go shower. After he got out and got dressed, he stood in front of the mirror drying and straightening his hair when she walked in wearing a robe and hopped up to sit on the counter.

"Made you some coffee."

"Thanks. You really didn't need to get up."

"Too late. Once that alarm went off I knew I couldn't go back to sleep. You know, you're kinda hot in that tie and vest…" She tugged playfully at his belt.

"Stop…not now Chris. I've got to get ready and get out the door!"

"You've got a _little_ time. I'm fine with a quickie." She started to unbuckle his belt, but he rolled his eyes at her and tried to push her hands away.

"No. Seriously. Please, stop. You're going to make me late!"

She ran her index finger down his crotch and said, "Your lips say no, but little Spencie is telling me a different story…"

He sighed, kissed her and found himself opening her robe in spite of himself. "This relationship might just cost me my job," he said, kissing her neck.

"Good. Your job is entirely to demanding, anyway." She laughed, wriggling out of her panties and wrapping her legs around him as he pulled down his pants.

" _You're_ too demanding. Work is like a vacation from you."

"Oh, just shut up and fuck me already!"

"If you insist…"

"I do…oh GOD! Yeah, baby! Just like that! Come on…harder! Yes!"

"Shhhh!"

"Just…hurry! That's it! Faster! Oh, god, Spencer! Oh…oh _fuck_! YES!"

He groaned and his own legs suddenly went weak beneath him. He held her hips tightly against him, vaguely fearing that if he let go of her he might fall. A moment later he stepped back and leaned against the wall as he pulled his pants back up and tucked in his shirt.

"Don't give me that look," she said, pulling her robe around herself. "You know you liked it, too!"

"You're incorrigible."

"Yeah, but you like that, too. It's sucks, though…"

"What does?"

"I'm gonna have to wash this counter myself now. I can't exactly ask Alex to do it after the mess you just made."

" _I_ made? You say that as if you had nothing to do with it!"

"It's you're fault I can't keep my hands off you. You're just too damned irresistible."

"Sure. Whatever you say." He walked back to the bedroom. After a moment she followed him, found him making the bed and proceeded to jump onto the middle of it. He made a face and threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine," he complained. "Do it yourself then. I give up."

She followed him to the kitchen to help herself to some coffee after he filled his travel mug then walked him to the door. "Hey," she said as he opened the door to leave, "stay safe out there today, okay? Don't get yourself shot or anything."

"I won't. Promise." He kissed her goodbye and felt her slap him on the bottom as he walked out the door. He didn't turn around, but just shook his head and laughed to himself. He'd been disappointed to learn yesterday of her opposition to marriage and children, but this morning the sun was shining, the cold air was invigorating, and he was still in love with her. Today, life was good. He'd think more about the future when the future came.

Upstairs in her closet she got dressed and came back out to the bedroom to pick up her robe from the floor where she tossed it. It was then that she saw what else had fallen on the floor. She picked it up, sighed and called for Alex.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Get dressed. We've gotta leave earlier than expected this morning."

"But the animal shelter doesn't open for another hour." Christine had promised to take her back to spend some more time with the cats to try and decide which one she liked best.

"Yeah, but we have to make another stop first. Make sure to bring ID and wear clean underwear. Knowing my luck, we'll probably get a cavity search at the gate."

"Where are we going?"

"The Marine Corps base."

"Why?"

"Because that's where the FBI has their headquarters. And the man who never forgets anything must have let his phone fall out of his pocket and forgot to take it with him."


	10. Chapter 10

"Whoa, hey, look at this! Reid's walking in _after_ me for a change! Must have been a hell of a vacation, eh, Pretty Boy?"

"Sure, Morgan- and when exactly did you get in?" Spencer taking his coat off and sitting down at his desk.

"Ignore him, Reid," Elle advised. "He barely walked in 30 seconds before you. Did you have a Merry Christmas?"

"Very. And you?"

"Oh, it was fine- as good as can be expected when you have to spend a whole week with your family," she replied.

"That's why I spent my Christmas is Vegas, baby," Morgan said. "Hey, surprised I didn't see you around at all, man. Didn't you go home to see your mom or anything?"

"Actually, it's not really all that surprising you didn't see me in Vegas. After all, with a population of more than 583,000 and approximately 109,500 tourists arriving daily, you could not possibly reasonably expect to simply bump into me by accident on the Strip- especially since I didn't visit Vegas at all."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "If you didn't go to Vegas, where did you go? I thought you said you were leaving town?"

"Interestingly enough, while you were visiting my hometown, I was visiting yours."

"Wait," JJ interrupted, "you went to Chicago for Christmas? Couldn't you think of any place warmer to go?"

"Unfortunately, there are no other cities in warmer locales that are also home to the Art Institute of Chicago, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the Shedd Aquarium, the Field Museum…"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. We get it. You took a cultural vacation. Thanks for yet again making the rest of us feel like idiots next to you," Elle joked.

"Speak for yourself, Greenaway," said Morgan. "Me, I had my own little Christmas miracle going on at the blackjack tables!"

Intrigued, Reid excitedly asked, "Really? How much did you win?"

Before Morgan could answer, they heard Hotch call to them, "I need everyone in the conference room. Now."

As they gathered their things from their desks, Spencer reminded Morgan, "Maybe now you can finally pay me what you owe me from the basketball pool."

* * *

Moments later they were listening to Hotch brief them about a series of unidentified dismembered bodies found in and around Denver. While he was telling them, "…and last night, the decapitated body of an unidentified female was found in Denver's Cherry Creek State Park," JJ put up on the screen pictures of the body for the team to see. As they all learned forward to look, Spencer heard a very familiar voice coming towards them- and he wasn't the only one who noticed it.

"I shit you not, that's what he said. I even asked a cop in town about it! I was like, 'What the hell is this story about some woman around here who huffs propane to get high?' And he said, _and I quote_ , 'That crazy bitch not only huffs that shit- she's a smoker, too!'"

"No way!" came another female voice, laughing.

"Hold up, the story gets better…" After saying this, a petite redhead entered the conference room and stood directly beside Hotch. "Heads up, Sparky," she said, flinging something across the room and hitting Reid square in the chest. "You left your phone at my place this morning."

Spencer fumbled to catch the cell phone he'd been tossed, painfully aware that all six pairs of eyes had moved from the young woman who had just interrupted them and were now fixed on him.

Hotch turned to the woman beside him who barely stood as high as his shoulder to find her looking fixedly at him. _Please don't call my boss a dick, Chris! Please don't call him that! I like my job!_ Spencer pleaded silently.

"Hey, that's a pretty sharp looking suit you've got on there, Skipper." She was grinning broadly, which Spencer _knew_ could not be a good sign. "Say, let me ask you something- does it ever get uncomfortable? Not the suit- I mean the steel rod you seem to have stuck up your ass."

There was an audible gasp in the room when the team heard this. Spencer froze and stared at the table in front of him, mortified. It was bad enough that she'd she barged right into their briefing, and worse still that she'd insulted Hotch. But the worst was that he knew her well enough to know she was doing this because she thought it was funny. She was _enjoying_ this. He silently prayed for the floor beneath him to open up and swallow him. He dared to glance up at Hotch. He was fuming.

"Miss, this is a confidential meeting," Hotch said, with smothered anger in his voice. "Please leave immediately, or I'll be forced to have you escorted out."

"Alrighty then! I'm going to go ahead and make a note that it is uncomfortable. Don't worry- I'm going, I'm going." She turned to leave, and as she did so, she said, "y'all do know, of course, that there is a super easy way to identify that poor girl like that," she said, snapping her fingers, "don't you? Have fun with that." She started out the door as Hotch glared after her.

Spencer suddenly spoke up. "No, wait, Chris. Come back."

"Agent Reid," Hotch barked, "this is neither the time nor the place..."

"No, Hotch, trust me. If she says she knows something, she knows it. Christine," he asked, seeing she had reappeared in the room, "how?"

"It's right there," she said, pointing to the victim's lower right leg.

"I don't see anything. There's nothing there," Morgan said.

"Hey, um, you- Barbie doll," she said, pointing to JJ. "Can you enlarge that right there for the folks in the cheap seats? Thanks. See it now?"

"What is that, a scar?" Morgan asked, squinting.

"That's hardly enough of an identifying mark with which to ID a body in this condition," Hotch scoffed. He clearly disliked and distrusted her.

"Hey," she snapped at him, "stay with me here and quit interrupting, okay, Sport?" Turning back to the screen, she continued. "That is a clear indicator this girl suffered a compound tibial fracture. Scar looks to be about four, maybe five years old. Since she seems to be between 16 and 18 years old, and her legs are the same length, whoever set it did a damn fine job. Where was she found?"

"Denver," Elle answered.

"Makes sense," Christine continued. "Typical skiing break. So she was local or a regular visitor. Anyway, that's how you ID her."

"There've got to be a lot of skiing accidents in that area though," JJ said. She was still chafing at being called a Barbie doll.

"No. She's right," Gideon said, speaking at last. "She's exactly right."

"What? How do we identify her off that? I mean, I could do a search of hospital records to try and find a match, but like JJ said, they must see a lot of injuries like that around there," Garcia said. She'd been eying this lady friend of Reid's. Something about her was so familiar, but she couldn't quite place her.

"Because to repair a break like that, the orthopedic surgeon would have used titanium pins," Spencer explained, putting it all together. "They have serial numbers."

"Aw, I knew there was a reason I love you! Tall, dark and smexy is right. Pull one of those pins, you've got your girl." She winked at Spencer, who smiled appreciatively. He felt greatly relieved she'd redeemed herself in the eyes of his friends- except for maybe Hotch. "And with that, I'm out!" Turning again to leave she slapped Hotch on the shoulder and said, "they're all yours, champ! You owe me a beer. You're welcome." As she exited, they heard her say to whomever was outside, "So yeah, like I was saying, she likes to huff this shit, and whatever it does to you, it must seriously fuck you up good and proper, because afterwards she…" Her voice faded away down the hall.

Hotch knew his team was now thinking about Reid's personal life rather than focusing on the case. He tried to bring them back. "Garcia, call the ME and have him look for that pin. The rest of you, wheels up in 30."

Reid was the first out of the conference room. He knew they wanted to ask him personal questions. He was still in shock and wasn't ready to answer them, not yet. The last to pass Hotch on his way out was Gideon. "Are you really that surprised?" he asked Hotch.

"Surprised about what?" he said, feigning ignorance of his meaning.

"That Reid would choose to be with a woman capable of keeping not only him, but everyone in the room on their toes?"

"Well," he sighed, exasperated. "I'm not surprised she's bright. I am surprised she lacks his reserve and decorum."

Gideon laughed quietly. "Not so surprising when you consider a good part of her appeal is likely that she has the boldness and bravado he lacks. She'll be good for him."

"God forbid." They left together to prepare for their departure.

* * *

On the jet, Morgan, JJ and Elle all made a point of sitting next to Reid, who pretended to be engrossed in the case file. He could feel them staring at him.

"So..." Elle finally began.

"So, it seems that, while there was no evidence of sexual assault, it is still impossible to rule out a sexual component, considering all three victims were female, of roughly the same age and-"

"Oh, no you don't, Lover Boy," Morgan said. "You know precisely what we want to talk about."

"Yeah, Spence. This is us you're talking to here," JJ continued. "Come on, who is she?"

"We haven't heard back from the ME about an ID yet."

Morgan took the file out of his hands. "No. Who's the little bitty redhead with the great big attitude?"

Spencer looked up at them and sighed. "Her name is Christine," he said finally.

"Oh, we got that, Playa. What we want to know is-"

"Wait, Morgan," JJ interrupted with her hand on his shoulder, "I know exactly who she is! Remember that article he was reading a few months ago? The one in the Post about the comedian…?"

"What? No way! Are you…was she…? You gotta be kidding me. That was _her_?"

"Yeah! I didn't recognize her at first either, because she had her hair back and glasses on, but that's her! I'm right, aren't I, Spence?"

He sighed and answered, "You are correct. Her name is Chris Arcangeli. That article was about her."

"Wait," said Elle, confused. "What article? What's going on?"

Morgan explained, "This summer, while we were in an airport waiting for the jet to refuel, Reid here picked up a newspaper and freaked out-"

"I did not freak out."

"Hey man, you freaked out. There was this article about a comedian who got beaten up on stage by an audience member. It was pretty bad, too- didn't he break her arm or something?"

Spencer scowled. He was still angry about that incident. "He didn't beat her up, per se; he grabbed her leg, causing her to lose her balance. She suffered a broken wrist, a concussion and a sprained ankle as a result. And you laughed about comedy being more dangerous than working for the FBI."

"Oh wow, hey man- I'm sorry. If I had known she was your girl, you gotta believe me, I never would have laughed about that."

"Yeah Spence, really. You should have told us," JJ added.

"Now, I'm the new one here, so maybe it's just me," Elle said, "but am I really the only one who's surprised he has a girlfriend at all?"

"Wait a second. Now that you mention it- this isn't a new relationship though, is it? Not if you guys have been together since at least the summer…Just out of curiosity, how long _have_ you been together?" JJ asked.

"We've been dating for nine months and two days. But we met several year prior while we were both studying at MIT."

"A comedian- at MIT? Didn't know you could major in funny there," said Morgan with a laugh.

"Actually, she studied geology there, after first receiving a PhD in history at the University of Chicago. After MIT, she went to med school at Georgetown. That's how I knew she was serious when she said she knew how to identify that body."

"Oh. My. God." Elle said, incredulously. "So basically, she's you, but with a sense of humor."

"Oh, that's not all she's got. Elle, do you remember what her t-shirt said?" JJ asked.

"No…why?"

"It said, 'Pickles are cucumbers soaked in evil,'" Morgan answered. Noticing how the two ladies smirked and Spencer raised an eyebrow, he asked, "What? Was I wrong?"

"You're not wrong, Morgan," Gideon said, without looking up from his case file. "You got it right because, unlike the women, you were looking at her chest."

"Can we get back to work? I'd like to discuss the case before we land," interrupted Hotch, who was clearly not amused.

About a half an hour while later, Spencer felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He looked at it for a moment before saying hesitantly, "It's Christine. She just sent me a text."

" _Agent_ Reid, you will have to conduct your personal business on your own time, is that clear?" Hotch said tersely.

"Yes sir, but…she says she has other information that may help with the case."

"Have you been sharing details of this case with her?" Hotch was clearly angry.

"No sir. But…if she was right about the surgical pin, she may be right about something else now, too."

"Call her," Gideon said, before Hotch had a chance to tell him not to, "and put her on speaker."

 _Oh please, Chris,_ he silently pleaded as he dialed her number, _please act serious on the phone…_

After a couple of rings they heard, "Hello?"

"Alex? It's Spencer. Is Christine there? And if so, please put her on. Tell her I'm calling regarding the text she sent- and please also let her know she'll be on speaker."

"What's that?"

"It means all of my colleagues will be listening in on this call."

"Oh. Okay…" Next they heard Alex scream away from the phone, "Yo, Boss! Spencer's on the phone! He says you sent him some text and now he wants to talk to you and everyone can hear you so, like, watch your mouth!"

There was the sounds of a phone changing hands and some unintelligible words being exchanged, and at last Christine came on saying, "Hey, 'sup bitch? The fuck took you so long to hit me back?"

Spencer felt his blood pressure immediately shoot up. _She just couldn't resist, could she?_ He was afraid to look at Hotch, whom he already knew was furious. Morgan, JJ and Elle each either coughed or looked away to try and hide their chuckles and smirks, but before he could find the words to impress upon her the need to be serious at this moment, Gideon spoke up, saying, "Ms. Arcangeli, this is Agent Jason Gideon, we met earlier…"

"Oh yeah, the smart one. Of course. How are you, sir?"

"I'm well, thank you. I wanted to thank you for your assistance earlier. Dr. Reid mentioned you might have some further insight to share with us?

"Duuuuude…he makes you call him _doctor_? Hot damn, Spencer! Seems a tad presumptuous, don't you think? Anyway, Jason, to answer your question- do me a favor and look at a picture of that body again. Do you have one available?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do."

"Alright. Now take a look at- Jesus Christ! The hell…? Alex! Get in here and get this animal off me! Ugh! No! Bad Spud! Bad! Quit…ahhh! Quit licking me! Here! Take your rabid, vicious, hairy beast off me!"

In the background they could hear Alex apologizing while Christine made wretching sounds. "You know cats will eat their own owners if and when they die, don't you?" she yelled to Alex. "Nasty little bastard will go after you eyeballs first and then your intestines, because those are the squishiest, gooiest parts! I'm just saying- sleep with one eye open around that thing because he's already taste-testing us!" She came back to the call, saying, "Sorry, Jason. My assistant adopted a new cat that just slobbered all over me and now I smell like nasty feline halitosis and Meow Mix. Little fucker even got kitty spit in my hair, I think. Anyway, where was I…oh yeah. The body…"

"Yes," Gideon answered with a slightly bemused look on his face. "what am I looking for?"

"See how she's got a tat on her right forearm? Now, I'm no expert, but that looked like quality work. It's a little faded now, which means it's at least a year or two old, and the girl was out in the sun. Since I doubt she can be over 18 and that's no prison work, she would have had to get Mommy or Daddy to sign off on it, know what I mean? Anyway, the pin will give you her name, but if you can find the artist, they should have a parental signature on file- or whomever she got to pose as a parent, anyway. I was just thinking my parents would never give permission for a tattoo at that age, so she might have found someone else to pose as a parent. That's all I had. Probably won't help, but it was a thought I had."

"Actually, miss, that may be very helpful, indeed. Thank you, very much." Turning to the others, he asked, "Does anyone else have any further questions for Ms. Arcangeli? No? Well, thank you for your time. We appreciate it."

"Yes, thank you, Christine," Spencer added, picking up the phone again.

"No prob, Sweet Cheeks. Stay safe. Oh! And Jason? Good luck. I hope one day you'll finally be able to find and kill the six-fingered man. Bye!"

After she hung up, Gideon asked, "What on earth did she mean by that? Who's the six-fingered man?"

Elle burst out laughing. "He's the man who killed your father! Come on guys- am I the only one who sees the resemblance between him and that guy from The Princess Bride?"

"Oh. My. God," Morgan said with a slow smile, "You're right! He does look just like that guy!"

* * *

The following Wednesday, after they'd closed the case in Denver, Spencer found himself at a diner late in the evening with Morgan, JJ and Elle being peppered with questions.

"Okay, so…explain this to me- how does someone like you end up with someone like her? How does someone like her even _become_ someone like her?" Morgan asked.

Spencer paused briefly from stuffing French fries in his mouth and answered, "I don't even know what that's supposed to mean."

JJ said, "I think what he means is, well…she makes a living because of her sense of humor and you…"

"You don't have a sense of humor," Elle concluded.

"I do so have a sense of humor! I can appreciate humor, anyway, I think…"

"Um, yeah…not so much," Morgan said. "But anyway, _why_ would someone who seems to be every bit as over-educated as you…just…tell jokes for a living?"

" _Just_ tell jokes? You say that as if she were no better than a circus clown!"

"Reid, I'm not trying to insult your girlfriend. I'm just wondering why she would settle for a job like that when she could have done literally anything with her life."

"First of all," Spencer said, leaning forward, "I don't think she _settled_ for her career any more than I settled for mine. Either of us could have pursued any number of careers. But we do what we do because we find our jobs fulfilling and meaningful. Also, I'll admit I too believed, when I first learned she'd chosen to pursue comedy as a career, that she was wasting her intellect, that she'd taken a job that was somehow beneath her. But in observing her and how she works, and in learning what it takes to be successful at it, I've come to realize that it takes not only a good sense of humor- it takes real skill. It takes creativity, courage, and a high degree of intelligence. And the ones who are good at it- as I believe she is- are indeed artists. It is a legitimate form of art, and I'm both impressed with and in awe of what she does. Furthermore, while she likes to tell people she has a job that involves her only working for an hour or two a night, she does in fact work very hard. She takes it very seriously, and there's an incredible amount of labor she puts into it behind the scenes that most people will never realize and appreciate, because she makes it look easy and fun. And so I have nothing but the deepest respect for her."

The others sat silent for a moment before JJ ventured, "I guess I never thought of it like that. As a form of art, that is."

"Hey Reid- do you get any perks for dating her?" Elle asked. "I mean, like, do you get free tickets to her shows?"

"Yes…"

JJ smiled, "Do you get enough tickets that you could maybe share some with your friends who could use a laugh?"

Spencer smiled back and said, "You know, she's performing the day after tomorrow at the Improv. If you're sincerely interested, I'll make a call."

"Make that call, Lover Boy," Morgan said. "We're all in!"

* * *

Friday, as Reid, Morgan, Elle and JJ stood waiting for Garcia, Gideon approached and Morgan said, "Hey man, have a great weekend. Any plans?"

"Well, I'm planning to see what promises to be a great comedy show. And you?" he replied.

"Wait…you're coming with us?" asked JJ.

"Yes. I'm not so old I've forgotten how to have a good time. What's the hold up? I thought the show starts at 7:30. We're going to be late, especially if we hit traffic."

"We're still waiting on Garcia," Spencer explained.

"I hope she doesn't keep us waiting much longer. I think we could all use a good laugh tonight," said Gideon.

A few minutes later, an apologetic Garcia came rushing up to them and they left. As they walked to the parking structure, she asked JJ quietly, "Why's _he_ coming with?"

Gideon answered, "For the same reason as you- to have a good time and hopefully gain some humorous insight into Dr. Reid's personal life." He turned around and added, "You don't whisper as softly as you think, you know."

"Well, you won't hear anything about me tonight. Christine and I have a deal- she's not to use details of our relationship as part of her act without first checking with me, which she has not yet done."

"Too bad. I can only imagine the jokes that could come out of that!" said Morgan with a laugh.

They pulled up to the Improv at 7:48, handed their keys to the valet, picked up their tickets at will-call and went in while Garcia was saying, "It's okay. We're okay, right? These things always start late, don't they? I've never been to a concert that started on time. Nothing ever starts on time. Why should a comedy show be any different?"

"You don't know Christine like I know her," Spencer said grimly. "She hates tardiness, both in others and in herself."

Outside the closed doors to the lounge, Alex stood with her arms crossed. After Spencer made the introductions she told him, "You know you're in trouble, right? Wait here- we've got a table reserved down in front, but let's wait 'til she finishes this story so we can go in while everyone's laughing." Moments later they heard the laughter and applause and followed Alex to their seats. As they were sitting down, Christine glanced over and made eye contact with Spencer. The look she gave him- a mischievous smirk with one eyebrow raised- told him Alex had been right- he was definitely in trouble.

As the laughter died down, Christine took a sip from the tea on the stool next to her and began, "Yeah, so clearly I haven't yet gotten the hang of this whole 'adult' thing. I'll give you another example- I'm in a relationship now, the first real relationship I've had since supposedly becoming an adult…"

"I thought you said she wouldn't talk about you?" JJ whispered with a smile.

"I…I've never heard this before. Alex, have you?"

"No…but I think we're about to find out your punishment," she whispered gleefully back.

"…and I'm finding out this shit's just a lot harder than it should be, you know what I mean? For example, my boyfriend is ridiculously good looking. Not average, ordinary good looking. No. I mean he is drop-dead, flat-out, makes-me-wanna-lick-him-like-a-lollipop gorgeous. And I have serious issues with that, because I'm a realist, you know? I have a working mirror. I look at myself everyday. I know I'm a redheaded, freckle-faced freak who's so short carnival ride workers still back me up against the line to make sure I'm tall enough to ride the Tilt-a-Whirl. Do you have any idea how hard it is for someone who looks like me to be seen out in public with a man like that? Hell, I have to tell stories like this in order to keep his self-esteem just low enough that he'll remain convinced that I'm the best he can do.

"And it's not just his ridiculously good looks that bother me. Because next there's the matter of his underwear. And I don't mean that it's got holes or skid marks, or anything like that. No- I've got brothers. I ain't afraid of that. With this guy it's far worse, because his underwear is much prettier than mine. Hell- his underwear drawer is more colorful than a Pride parade. Seriously. Me, I've got white. And maybe a few pairs of pink panties that used to be white until I washed them with my coloreds. And they're all bigger than his, too! Can you believe that shit? He's damn near a foot taller than me, and he's built like he was born without a fucking pelvis. And he's got this nice tight little ass- the whole bit. He's so hot it really makes me fucking hate him sometimes.

"Now, I'm not a completely unreasonable person. I mean, I could overlook him being just tall and slim and sexy if those were his only faults. But they're not. Because that's just the surface stuff, the red flags you notice right away. The really bad stuff is the shit you learn about one another after you've been together for a while. Like the first time I ever spent the night at his place…

"Actually, let me back this up a few steps. Technically, the first time I ever spent the night at his apartment he was a complete gentleman and insisted upon me sleeping on the couch…"

Morgan nudged Spencer and said, "Yeah, playa!"

"That's not…it wasn't like that!"

"Shhh!" Garcia whispered.

"…but by the _second_ time I spent the night at his place he let me graduate to sleeping in the big-boy bed with him. That's when I discovered the dark, dirty little secret he keeps hidden in his bedroom. I don't mean his Star Wars bed sheets, even though those did weird me out a little. I mean, who puts those on their beds? Little fucking children, that's who. Kinda made me feel like a child molester, gettin' nasty on those sheets. But no. Right when we were just about to do it, that's when I noticed- my boyfriend likes to play with dolls. He's got this whole fucking collection of dolls in his room. And I don't care how many times guys try to tell me, 'They're not dolls, Chris! Their action figures!' You know what? That's bullshit. They're goddamned fucking dolls. I know it, you know it, and every single grown-ass woman in here knows it. Now, if you're gonna play with dolls, fine. But don't call them 'action figures' like it makes it more manly. It doesn't. Just admit you like playing with dolls like an 8 year old little girl and own that shit.

"So anyway, he's got all his little dolls lined up, staring at the bed and I'm like, 'Nah. Uh-uh. I am not gonna screw while they're watching. 'Cause you know me- when we're in bed, I am down for whatever, but putting on show for all your little beady-eyed, creepy-ass friends is where I draw the fucking line.' And he tried to appease my by putting them in the closet, but I was like, that's not gonna work- they can still peek through the little slats and hear everything! _Finally_ I got him to put them out in the hallway, but of course he had to bitch the whole time he was moving them. Right, as if _I'm_ the crazy one, you know?

"The other thing about my boyfriend is that's he's smart. I mean like honest to God, legitimately Rain Man-meets-Einstein kind of smart. As in, he's got not one, not two, but three PhDs kinda smart. Seriously. And me, well, this will probably come as a shocker to some of you, but I actually did graduate from Georgetown right here in DC, which is an excellent school, so I'm not a complete dumbass. And yet somehow, when the two of us are together, we still can't figure out how to solve even the simplest of problems. Here's what I mean. I travel a lot as part of my work, so there are times when my boyfriend flies in to visit me in whatever city I happen to be performing that weekend. Now, when he does that, it's awesome. Because then we not only get to have sex, we get to have hotel room sex. See? Some of you are laughing because you know what that means. If you don't know why hotel room sex is better than at home sex, then you are doing it wrong. I won't go into all the grisly details of how we do it in a hotel room. I will tell you this- I hope to God that after we're done with a room, that the cleaning ladies don't just change our linens. What they need to do is just haul all that shit right out ro the dumpster, douse it with kerosene and toss a match. Trust me- you do not wanna touch our sheets when we're done with them. Even _I_ don't wanna touch our sheets. And everything in that room that can't be burned had better hosed the fuck down with Pine-Sol and bleach. I mean everything. The desk, the dresser, the carpet, the heater, the windows, the TV remote- all of that. You don't wanna know where we get bodily fluids or how."

She stopped for a moment to look at their table and pointed to Gideon. "See this guy? See that grey hair on his head? Know why he's laughing so hard? Because he's been around long enough to know I'm right. That is the proper way to have hotel room sex. High five, man," she said, and slapped Gideon's outstretched hand.

"Now, here's were we got into trouble: a few months ago I tried to make a nice, romantic evening for us. I got us a Jacuzzi suite, I bought scented candles and some bubble bath, and I thought I was doing pretty good, you know? So we've got this two-person tub and I draw a bath and we get in. And I'm thinking this is going to be something really special. And of course it was. Right up until my boyfriend suggests we turn on the whirlpool jets. Now, see, some of you have started to figure out where this is going. But we were not thinking that far ahead. And neither I nor the genius…incidentally," she said, pointing right at Spencer, "he's here tonight. See this one, the guy that's very cleverly trying to hide his face thinking we can't see him if he can't us? Yeah, that's him, right there. And all these other nice people at the table with him? Those are his coworkers who are, like, meeting me for the first time. I wonder what they'll be talking about at the office on Monday? So anyway, we turn on the jets. In a bubble bath. You see now how this adds up? The bathtub was overflowing with suds. But we were too busy gettin' busy to turn the jets off. We just let it go 'til we were finished. And by that time, the entire floor was flooded with about four inches of suds. There were suds going out into the bedroom. We had to call for extra towels…they were like, 'Right away. How many do you need, Ms. Arcangeli?' I was just like, 'I don't even know. Just send up the ladies with the whole fucking cart of them.' We were so embarrassed we just left a big tip for the cleaning ladies the next morning and checked into a different hotel. I can't even stay at a Marriot Hotel anywhere anymore, 'cause I'm pretty sure they all have my picture at the front desk now.

"And that is why I'm not good at being an adult." She reached over to take a sip of tea while the audience applauded and everyone at his table nudged Spencer and slapped him on the back before she continued, "And for you gentlemen in the audience, let this serve as a warning: if you date someone like me who's, you know, kinda crazy- don't piss her off by doing stupid shit like showing up late in the middle of her show. 'Cause she might just be crazy enough to get up with a microphone and make you suffer for it in front of your friends." While the audience laughed and applauded some more, she put her microphone back on the stand, leapt off the stage and went over to him to plant a big kiss firmly on his lips and said quietly to him, "Sorry, sweetheart- I just couldn't resist!" before running back up on stage and finishing her set.

After the show, as they were filing out to wait for her by the bar, Spencer was receiving hugs and good-natured teasing from his friends when strangers began approaching him to pat him on the back and ask for pictures. His team members noted he was embarrassed and uncomfortable with this, but stood there gamely accepting it until Christine came out and joined him. With her by his side, laughing, signing autographs and mugging for camera phones, he suddenly relaxed and started to play along. They exchanged glances; it was as if they seeing a different man entirely, one who for once didn't shy away from attention and human contact, who was reserved yet genuinely warm and, well, surprisingly normal. It began to dawn on them that he actually was a pretty regular guy, that in spite of his extraordinary abilities and their tendency to view him as a walking Wikipedia, maybe he was really just human after all.

After the crowd had dissipated, Christine turned to them, her arm around Spencer's waist and his around her shoulders and asked, "Well, thank you so much for coming tonight. I really appreciate that. Though I must say, I'm frankly shocked your boss didn't show up. I wonder why that is…"

"Really, Chris? Do you _really_ not know why Hotch didn't come? Think hard now, dear…" Spencer said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, I haven't a clue. You don't think it's something I said, is it?" She laughed and asked, "Hey, y'all up for a drink? I could use something stronger than peppermint tea. Come on, I'm buying. Then I tell you what _really_ goes on behind close doors between us."

"Please, boss, try to keep it PG-13. I really don't want to have too many gross images in my mind," Alex whined.

"I make no promises. Let's go, folks. Follow me," she said, leading them out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

They took a table in the back of the bar and Spencer made the proper introductions they hadn't been able make the week prior. As they settled in to wait for someone to take their drink orders, JJ asked, "Where did Gideon and Alex disappear to?"

"Jason thanked me for the show, mentioned it was getting late for him and offered Alex a ride home since she isn't old enough to be hanging around in bars, anyway," Christine replied. "So… I can tell by the looks on y'all's faces that you're just dying to ask me _something_ so...have at it."

"Alright," Morgan began, "how did you two _really_ meet?"

"I've already told you that!" Spencer said.

"Leave the story-telling to the professional here, dear." Spencer rolled his eyes at Christine as she continued, "Spencer was a 16 year old lost little puppy my brother Joe adopted in the MIT cafeteria one day while I was taking a few weeks off. When I got back, he introduced us and…" her voice faltered for a moment as she stopped and looked at Spencer. Taking his hand and squeezing it she continued, "…see, at that time, I was really struggling. It was probably the darkest, most terrifying time in my life. And he was the only person I found whom I could trust to do the one thing for me that no one else could, not even Joe." She blinked back a few tears, cleared her throat and said, "I don't know if I've ever really thanked you for that. I wondered for years if you'd ever truly know how much that meant to me…"

He squeezed her hand back and said softly, "Not a day went by that I didn't think of you and hope you were doing well, wherever you were."

"What happened?" Garcia asked over-eagerly, eliciting a little under-the-table kick from JJ.

"Sister, I've got a rule," Christine said with a smile, "if I haven't worked up the nerve to say something on stage, it's because it's still too hard to talk about. That was nearly eight years ago already, but it is still to soon for me to pick the scab off of that wound. I will tell you this- I fell hard for that 1,000 watt smile the first time I saw it!"

"You've never told me that," Spencer said.

She rolled her eyes at him, "Sometimes you are just brilliantly dense, aren't you? I was all kinds of crazy-stupid for you right from the start."

"Well, if I had known you were interested in me, I might have asked you out."

"Really, sweetheart? Would you have?" she asked with one eyebrow raised.

"Actually…probably not. I thought about it, though…"

"So what stopped you?" Garcia asked, getting excited again.

"She was always with her brother, who is not only very protective of her, but I'm fairly certain he could take me in a fist fight."

Christine laughed. "Sweetheart, _I_ could take you in a fist fight!"

Garcia pressed, "But Chris, you know he's shy! Why didn't _you_ ask _him_ out?"

"That's simple- he was jail bait." She paused for a moment, and added, "And maybe I was really shy, too."

"Oh, you two are so…so…frustrating! So what then? You just walked out of one another's lives?!"

"Yeah, pretty much," Christine said.

"But how could you _do_ that?" Garcia continued, working herself up. "You almost missed your chance at true happiness! There would have been no romance, no love story, no genius babies, no-"

"Whoa! Holy shit, are you getting ahead of yourself! Damn. I think I need a drink. Anyone else need a drink? Where's our waitress, anyway?" Christine said, looking around to avoid the uncomfortable turn in the conversation.

After camel-kicking Garcia again, JJ rescued her by saying, "You got a point- is anyone _ever_ going come and take our order? Hey, why don't you boys just go get them from the bar, okay?"

After dispatching Spencer and Morgan, the women all looked at one another and leaned in. "Okay, so tell us," Garcia said, "what's it really like dating Boy Wonder over there?"

Christine, relieved at having successfully escaped the baby-talk, grinned and replied, "Now, it kinda sounds like you're wondering how he behaves when we're out- if he takes me nice places and opens doors for me and the like. But what is suspect you really wanna know is if he's any good in the sack. Or am I reading you ladies wrong?" She glanced around at each of them, chuckled and said, "Well, I'll tell you this- Spencer is a young man, in perfect health, who has boundless energy, a tireless work ethic and always strives for perfection in every task he undertakes. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of the human anatomy and is the consummate overachiever. So, lemme ask you- what do you think a man like that is like in bed?"

Garcia let slip, "Oh, wow…" before she'd even realized she said it.

"Yep. That's pretty much what I find myself saying when I'm in bed with him. Except I usually end up screaming it."

When Spencer returned with Morgan to bring them their drinks he said, "Oh, no. You're all laughing. Am I to assume I've been made the butt of one of her jokes again?"

"Absolutely not, my darling! I've only had the most laudatory of things to say about you," Christine replied, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Later at home, Spencer came out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth to find Christine sitting in bed, flipping through a copy of National Geographic. "What on earth is that animal doing there?" he asked.

"That is a marine crocodile," she replied, referring to the cover of the magazine. "Did you know these mofos are so badass, they'll swim for miles out in the open ocean to hunt sharks? Sharks! They _hunt_ apex predators! I think I fuckin' love these things- they're amazing!"

"No, not the crocodile. I mean… _that_ ," he said, pointing to cat on the bed beside her. "Am I to presume that's Spud?"

She put down her magazine. "Who him? Yeah…"

"Isn't he supposedly Alex's animal?"

"In theory, yes. But the second day we had him, I came up here for a nap and he snuck in and curled up beside me and has laid claim to your side of the bed ever since."

"Well…get rid of him, then!"

"That may be easier said than done. Why don't you give it a go, sweetheart?" she suggested, grinning.

"Go on now, puss-puss. Go on- shoo!" Spencer said, waving at the orange and white cat who simply stared at him with an air of contempt. "Shoo!"

"You know, I'm not certain if that cat can comprehend English, but I am pretty sure he doesn't give a damn about your gentle suggestions."

"How am I supposed to move him, then?"

"Oh, for pity's sake. He only weighs about three pounds. Pick him up and move him!"

"How does one pick up a cat?" he asked, regarding the animal skeptically.

"Try using your hands, darling."

"You're not helping."

"I'm not trying to help. Frankly, I think this is hilarious!"

"Should I…I don't know…pick him up by his neck like a mother cat would?"

"There's a good place to start. Try that."

Spencer hesitantly reached out with one hand to grasp the cat's scruff and jumped back again when Spud hissed at him. "He almost bit me!"

"Oh, he did not!"

Spencer went to the bedroom door, opened it and called for Alex to come get her cat. When she appeared in the doorway, Christine held up her hand, saying, "No. Don't help him. Just watch. This is awesome."

"You're both being mean," he declared, sullenly. He tried tugging on the bed covers to dislodge Spud, causing him to do nothing more than yawn, lay down and close his eyes. Next he clapped and called the animal's name, but this, too, elicited no reaction other than causing the cat's ears to turn in the direction of the sound.

"Wow, Spencer. He really has no respect for you, does he?" Alex observed.

"Ooh, yes! Get the cat's respect! Show him your FBI credentials, baby! See if that'll work!"

"Must you two enjoy this so much? Come on, what do I do?"

"Just pick him up like a baby and hand him to me," Alex said.

Inching closer, he slowly placed his hands around Spud's belly, lifted him up and held him away from his body towards Alex, who gathered him in her arms. "And that's what you consider to be the proper way to hold a baby? Oh yeah, you're ready for fatherhood…" Christine said with a laugh.

"Fatherhood?!" Alex exclaimed, looking at each of them. "Boss, are you on the nest?"

"Oh dear God, no!" Christine replied, horrified.

"Are you two at least _trying_?" she pressed, hopefully.

"No! Never! Good lord, girl! Take your beast and leave us!"

"Whatever. You'll never stop me from hoping!"

"OUT!" Christine hollered, and Alex left.

After climbing in bed, Spencer turned out the light on the nightstand and put his arms around Christine. "Did you hear that? She's on my side, you know."

Christine groaned. "Seriously, just…don't. My uterus is _not_ open for business. Not now. Not ever." She giggled as he kissed her neck and started to tug at her panties. "I wouldn't mind if you showed me what you'd do if it was, though."

"With pleasure, my dear," he answered, pulling down his own pajama bottoms as she shimmied out of her nightie before wrapping her legs around his waist.

Afterwards, he laid back and stared up into the darkness, stroking her hair as she rested her head on his chest. "Chris?" he asked.

"Mmmhmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sounds like you already are…"

"Are you…satisfied with our sex life?"

"What- you couldn't tell from all the moaning and screaming and scratching at your back? I thought those were pretty clear signals that I am very satisfied- more than satisfied!"

He rolled over on his side to face her. "I don't mean that…I mean…" he sighed. "I mean, do you find it fulfilling?"

She propped herself on one arm and stared at him in the darkness. "Are you dissatisfied?"

"What? Me? No! I think it's great- it's incredible! If anything, I only wish there was more of it, but our jobs kind of make that impossible…"

"Then what do you mean, Spencer?"

He cleared his throat and answered, "Well, do you wish we were more…I mean, that we…you know…tried different things?"

"What, like if we were kinkier? If we used toys and costumes and Cirque du Solei type moves- stuff like that?"

"Well…maybe. I mean, some people do…"

"Do _you_ want to do those things? Do _you_ feel like you'll be happier with whips, chains and leather underwear?"

"No…no. I love what we do."

"But you think _I_ can't be happy with just you, that _I_ must need something else to enjoy sex, is that it?"

"No. I'm just asking if you'd like that stuff even more."

"Spencer, lemme explain something to you. The thing I love most about sex with you is that _it's with you_. When I'm around you, I just want to be as close to you as possible. And when we have sex, in those moments, it's as if I'm closer to you than I've ever been to anyone, both physically and emotionally. I mean, it's awesome that it's a helluva lot of fun. Three cheers for orgasms, you know? And if you want to experiment with whatever, well, I'm game. But I don't feel anything is lacking. Do you?"

"No…it's just…when you told those stories tonight, you kind of made me feel like a goof."

She sighed. "I _knew_ that's what this was about. But you listened to that as my boyfriend, as the involved party. But I know you remember every word I said. So go back through it all. Do you remember what I listed as your so-called faults? I said you were too tall, slim, sexy and smart. Think about it. Those are not faults. Those are all attributes most women only hope to find in men. You know what kind of woman would see those as faults? A crazy one, that's who. People weren't laughing at you- they were laughing at me and my ridiculous insecurities. I guarantee that there wasn't a woman there tonight who didn't want what I have by the time I was through with that story. So what if you play with dolls? Women don't care about that if her man is also willing to have sloppy, nasty bathtub sex with her, too."

He chuckled in the darkness. "We really did make a terrible mess that night."

"I know. But it was totally worth it."

* * *

When he walked into the BAU Monday morning, Morgan greeted Spencer with, "Yeaaah, there's the man! I'm surprised to see you so awake this early after spending a whole weekend with Big Red!" Spencer instinctively raised his arm to block Morgan's hand as he reached out to mess with his hair.

"For your information, she prefers the nickname Gingerpotamus," he said, blushing.

"Seriously? That has _got_ to be the least sexy name I've ever heard any man give his girlfriend," Elle said.

"I don't call her that. But a few weeks ago she got her hands on my phone and changed her name to that in my contacts list. She's forbidden me to change it back."

Spencer turned at the sound of high heels hurrying toward him just in time to have Garcia throw her arms around him. "Oh my god! You're the subject of my newest, favoritest love story! She's got brains, beauty _and_ a sense of humor- I love her! When can we hang out with her again?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I could use some help moving in a few weeks…"

"Are you two moving in together? Yes! Yes! Done. I'll be there. I can't wait to see her place. I'm not going to lie. After I met her, I had to go home and do my thing, you know? I couldn't let our very own boy genius date just anyone without doing a proper background check..."

"Garcia!" JJ scolded. "Haven't you ever heard of boundaries?"

"I had to know!" she protested.

"No, what you had to do was be nosey," JJ pointed out.

"Okay, maybe that, too. But you know she lives in a mansion, right? And honest to goodness _mansion_ like something right out of Gone With the Wind! The Google Earth view of it wasn't very good because there's so many trees, though. And how did she get it so cheap? My guess is it needed a lot of work because of the building permits she had to get."

"You looked into my girlfriend's real estate records?" Spencer asked incredulously.

"Maybe… that's not the point. The point is, I think I'm in love with your girlfriend because she seems amazing and I want to see her house. And if I have to get a little sweat on my beautiful brow to do so, I will."

Spencer smiled and shook his head. "You're unbelievable. And I feel strangely violated. But I plan to move the last weekend of the month, and if you're willing, I wouldn't mind some help packing. There's not much, since I'm putting my furniture into storage until I can figure out what to do with it. So it's mostly books."

"And your dolls, right?" said Morgan with a smirk.

Spencer sighed. "Yes, those too. Why, were you hoping to play with them?"

"No. And you'll have to pack all your own damned pretty, colorful panties. That is where I draw the line!" he shot back.

* * *

A week after Spencer moved in, Christine was already preparing to leave on a Spring tour. They made plans to at least meet the weekend after Valentine's Day to celebrate. Even if he was required to work other weekends, he was determined to see her then. He'd never had someone to call his Valentine. She told him she thought he was being ridiculously sentimental when he spoke of this, but he insisted they celebrate. He ordered flowers to be delivered to her hotel on the 14th- red roses this time instead of white tulips. She chided him over the phone for the extravagance, but he didn't care. He enjoyed playing the romantic and treating her like a lady, and he told her she'd just have to humor him on this occasion, especially since it was also near her birthday and the anniversary of their very first meeting. When he arrived in San Francisco a few days later to see her, the weather was miserably cold and wet. Neither of them particularly minded- it gave them all the more reason to spend the long President's Day weekend indoors. Before he left, she told him she'd be home the first week of April to enjoy Spring Break. He had plans to travel to Los Angeles with Gideon to conduct a seminar for the LAPD the week prior, but was certain he'd be back in time to enjoy having her home for a little while.

* * *

A/N added 4/29/2016

In the US, President's Day falls on the third Monday in February, between the 15th and the 21st. This date was chosen in honor of President George Washington, who was born February 22, 1731, and President Abraham Lincoln, who was born on February 12, 1809. It is a federal holiday, and as a federal employee, Reid would have had this day off.


	12. Chapter 12

The team returned from Los Angeles on a Saturday evening. Spencer had been in touch with Christine- he always was. He'd told her about the seminar and the gallery opening. He'd also told her they'd stayed to work on a stalking case. But he didn't tell her the victim was Lila Archer. And he didn't tell her everything that had happened in LA between them. He knew she had arrived home that very morning and that she was waiting for him now. But even after almost everyone else had left, he remained at his desk, miserably flipping through some case files, trying to figure out how to face her. He knew the moment she saw his face, she'd see the guilt he felt written all over it.

As Morgan, the only other agent left in the office, gathered up his things to leave for the evening, he noticed his troubled friend and went over to lean against his desk. "Hey kid. What's keeping you so late? You've been talking all week about getting home to see your lady. So why are you still here?"

Spencer closed the file in his hands and laid it on his desk. Without turning around, he said, "When you showed up at Lila's house and found us...I didn't just fall in the pool, you know."

"Yeah. I figured that much. Even you aren't that clumsy."

"She pulled me in." When Morgan said nothing, Spencer turned in his chair and looked at him. "She kissed me, you know."

"I figured something like that had happened, too. You're not the only one around here who's been trained to be observant."

"Has anything like that ever happened to you?"

"On the job? No."

"And off the job? Have you ever done like that while you were involved with another woman?"

Morgan sighed, "Yeah."

"And? What happened to your relationship?"

Morgan pulled up a nearby chair and sat down. "With me, it didn't just end with a kiss. My girl ended up finding out. And…that was the end of our relationship."

"If she hadn't found out, would you have told her?"

Morgan nodded. "Yeah. I would have had to tell her. A woman has a right for the sake of her own health to know whom her partner has slept. But if you're asking me if you should tell Christine about this…only you can answer that. You have to ask yourself if you'd be doing her more harm than good. I don't know her as well as you do. But if it would only hurt her, then what would be the point? Do you really want to put her through all that over something as innocent as a kiss?"

Spencer looked down at the pen he was twirling in his fingers. "I think...I think I might have kissed her back."

Morgan sat quietly, and waited until Spencer looked at him before saying, "So what are you thinking, then? Do you see a future with Lila? Are you thinking of leaving Christine for her? I mean, I'm not judging. You have to do what you have to do, man. But if the spark has gone out with Christine, then you've got some serious thinking to do."

"No. No…it's nothing like that! I…I don't know what I was thinking at that moment. I wasn't thinking, I guess. And as soon as I realized what I'd done, I stopped. I told her I had a girlfriend." He gave Morgan a bitter smile. "You know what she said? She said she didn't care. That no one would ever know. But I know." He covered he eyes with his hand and his voice wavered as he said, "I can't believe I did that. I love her. And for a moment, I simply forgot about her. How could I do that to her? I've never been so ashamed of myself…"

"Hey man," Morgan said, leaning forward and putting one hand on Spencer's knee, "hey, look at me. Don't do that to yourself. She was a beautiful woman who caught you off guard. But you did stop yourself. You did remember Chris. You did stop. You hear me? Come on. Don't beat yourself up. And don't stay here too late, okay? Go home."

Spencer nodded, looking down again. Morgan stood up and pushed the chair back where it belonged. As he turned to leave he said in a low voice, "Uh oh. Head's up, Doc." Through the glass doors to the BAU they saw the elevator doors closing behind a small woman with unmistakable red hair. As she opened the doors to the office, Spencer stood up and tried to smile at her even as his heart fell into the pit of his stomach. Her face was set as hard as stone.

"Hey, funny lady! I was just telling this guy to wrap it up and get home to you…" Morgan's attempt at being light-hearted fell flat as she walked past without even glancing at him.

She stopped when she stood just inches away from Spencer and stood silently, staring him square in the eye. "Baby doll,' he began. "Welcome home! I've missed you! I was just on my way…" His voice trailed of under her gaze.

After a short, silent moment, Christine hauled off and slapped him so hard in the face Spencer staggered back a step. His hand instinctively flew to his cheek where she'd left a bright red mark as Morgan grabbed her arm. She turned to other man and said in a slow, measured, low-pitched voice, "Get your goddamned hands off me." Spencer made a gesture to Morgan, who released her arm and stepped back. Looking back at Spencer, she continued in that same voice, dripping with smothered fury and contempt, "I may not be tall. Or blonde. Or beautiful, or famous. But I don't deserve this," she said, tossing a magazine she'd been holding onto his desk. "And I damn well deserve a whole hell of a lot better than a disgusting pig like you. I never want to see your pathetic face again." With that, she turned on her heel and snapped at Morgan, "Get out of my way. Now!" Morgan stepped aside to let her pass. Without turning around, she said, "Alex is packing your worthless things as we speak. You have 24 hours to get your shit and get the hell out of my life before I throw it all in a pile on the front lawn and roast hot dogs and marshmallows over it."

With that, she strode out of the BAU. Spencer, who had stood frozen and speechless now turned, picked up the magazine she'd left and slumped down into his chair. On the cover of the supermarket tabloid was a photo of himself with Lila under a headline suggesting he was her newest boyfriend. Feeling something tucked between the pages he opened it. He pulled out two photographs that had been placed between the pages of an article showing pictures of him kissing Lila- they had been shot from an angle other than the one held by the photographer Morgan had found. One of the photos in his hands was of the two of them, taken by Joe at Christmas, which showed them embracing and smiling as snow fell on them.

Reaching for the other photo, Morgan asked, "Who's this?" It was of a man in a drab gray jumpsuit smiling shyly as he leaned on a model of the moon nearly as tall as he was, and it was autographed.

"That's Neil Armstrong, taken just prior to the Apollo 11 mission. She already had autographed pictures of Mike Collins and Buzz Aldrin in that same pose. They're heroes of hers. I gave that to her for Christmas," he said, as tears started to slip down his cheek, "after I realized she wouldn't want my grandmother's engagement ring…" He began to sob, "I thought I'd have my whole life to spend with her. Now I've ruined it all. I don't even have a home to go to…" He stood up and flung the magazine in the trash. Picking up his go bag, he started to walk past Morgan, who stopped him.

"Hey, kid. Come on. Where you going now, huh? What are you thinking?"

"I have to find a hotel. I guess tomorrow I'll need to try and move my things into storage somewhere and start apartment hunting."

"Nah. No man. You're not going anywhere tonight alone. Not like this. You're coming with me. You can have my couch tonight, and tomorrow I'll clear out my spare room and we'll go get your stuff, okay? Who knows? Maybe by then she'll have cooled off and you two can talk about this. Come on," he said, putting his arm around Spencer's shoulders.

"Thanks, Morgan. But no, she won't," he replied hopelessly, as they walked out together.

* * *

The next day they pulled up to Christine's house in Morgan's truck. Alex was crouching in the front lawn with Spud by her side, both looking intently at something in the grass. As they approached Spud came over to him and rubbed against his leg. The cat had taken a strange liking to him, though the sentiment wasn't entirely mutual. Alex didn't look up. When he bent down to scratch Spud's head, Alex reached out a finger and stroked the toad she'd been watching. "Some people think they're ugly. But I think they're sorta cute. They're not as pretty as frogs, but they're not slimy, either…" She stood up and looked at him for a moment. She'd been crying. She threw her arms around Spencer and sobbed, "What happened? What's going on? She went out to the store yesterday and when she came back…please don't leave…"

He untangled himself from her arms and smiled at her sadly. "I made a mistake. One I'm afraid I'll regret for the rest of my life. Is she here?"

Alex nodded. "But she said she doesn't want to see you."

"I understand. Where are my things?"

Alex gestured to the boxes stacked neatly on the veranda. The three of them loaded them into Morgan's truck in silence. When they'd finished, Alex asked for the address where Spencer would be staying, in case she found anything else. Morgan wrote it down on the back of one of his business cards and handed it to her. She shook his hand and said simply to Spencer, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too, Alex. Take care of her."

She nodded and stepped back from the truck as they pulled away. He watched in the mirror as she stood waving to him. He thought he saw a curtain move in one of the second floor windows. But when he turned around to look, he saw no one there.

* * *

That week the BAU took no new cases, and Spencer found the days spent completing paper work and studying casefiles maddening; he couldn't concentrate. All his friends tip-toed around him. Morgan had told them what had happened over the weekend, that Reid was now staying with him, that he almost never spoke, barely ate and spent the evenings behind closed doors reading in silence. He hadn't yet looked for an apartment, but Morgan never mentioned it to him; he didn't think Reid should be alone yet, anyway. After a quiet dinner of take-out on Thursday evening, Reid retired to his room while Morgan opened a beer and sat down on the sofa to watch some hockey. Just as he was putting his feet up there was a knock on the door. After muttering a few choice words under his breath, he got up and answered it.

"Can I help you?" he asked the man with the receding hairline and rumpled shirt standing in the hall.

"Are you Derek Morgan?"

"Yes, and you are…?"

"Joe Arcangeli," he said, extending his hand. "I'm-"

"Christine's brother," Morgan concluded.

"Yeah, that's right. Is Spencer here?"

"Yes, but I don't think now is the time. He's still really broken up over this, and after your sister ripped his heart out of his chest, the last thing he needs is for her brother to come and stomp on it further!"

"Hey man. Look, I didn't come here to…" Joe's gaze shifted from Morgan to the man now standing behind him. "Hey, buddy. How you holding up? Can we talk?"

Spencer shrugged and nodded. "Come in, then," Morgan said, stepping aside. "I've got some files to look over anyway. I'll give you two the room."

As Morgan turned down the hallway, Joe called after him, "Don't worry. If anyone scores, I'll let you know. Hope you're not a Maple Leafs fan!"

"Bruins all the way!" he answered.

"You're a good man, Derek!" Sitting down with Spencer on the sofa, he raised his hand to stop Spencer from speaking and said, "Look. I don't need to hear your side of the story. Hell, I didn't even need to hear her side of the story. I know how she is and what she thought. Just answer a few questions for me. First- did it go any further than a kiss?"

"No."

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Spencer sighed. "I don't know. I…I wasn't thinking. She pulled me into the pool and just kissed me."

"Do you love my sister?"

"Yes."

"Then I have- just a second," Joe turned and yelled down the hall, "Goal! Murray!"

From the other room they heard Morgan respond with a faint, "Woo-hoo!"

Turning back to Spencer, Joe continued, "I have one last question- if you love her, then why the hell are you sitting in your buddy's living room telling me that you love her instead of standing in her home telling it to her?"

"She threw me out! She told me she never wanted to see me again!"

"Look. I'm not at smart as either of you, but I'm not stupid, either. I know she would never fly off the handle that fast and get that angry if she hadn't been hurt by someone she loves very much. And I know you know that she uses her big mouth as self-defense, and that underneath she's hiding an ego that's as fragile as glass. You broke it. And the way I see it, it's your job now to go fix it. So swallow your pride, man the hell up, put your shoes on, and get your scrawny ass in my car, because that's just what you're going to do now."

Spencer nodded, explained to Morgan where he was going, and followed Joe out the door. When they pulled up to Christine's home, Spencer got out, then turned to Joe and said, "Hey- aren't you coming with?"

"Ha! Me? Fuck no. I've got a woman back in Baltimore who gives me enough hell. No man- you need to walk into that lion's den on your own."

"So how am I supposed to get back when she throws me out again?"

"I'll wait here for a bit. If she lets you in the door and you don't come running back out within five minutes screaming that she just cut your balls off, I'm going to assume things are going well and haul my tired ass back home."

"Thanks for the reassurance," Spencer said, grimly

"Any time, man."

Spencer turned and walked up the steps to the veranda, took a deep breath, and knocked. A moment later, Alex opened the door and stared at him with a look of surprise. Soon a smile spread across her face, and after letting him in, she simply called out, "Boss?"

"Aw, Christ on a cracker, Joseph," Christine said as she was coming down the hallway. "You didn't need to come all the way here. Contrary to what Alex may have told you, I'm not completely falling apar-" she stopped halfway down the stairs when she caught sight of Spencer looking up at her. She said nothing further, but continued down the stairs and stood to face him.

"I, uh…guess I'll go hang out in my room, then," Alex said.

After she went up the stairs, Spencer and Christine remained standing silently, listening to Alex's footstep fade away down the hall. After a moment, Christine called out, "Alexandra…"

"Sorry!" Alex answered sheepishly and closed the door to her bedroom. Christine shook her head as a faint smile formed briefly on her lips. She then gestured to the hall leading to the library and followed him there.

After shutting the door behind them, she asked Spencer, "Coffee?"

"Thanks. I'll get my own." She had had a rather expensive espresso and cappuccino machine installed when he moved in. They each had always preferred to make their own; hers was too weak for his taste, and she'd chided him for the way he made his, saying it was disgusting the way he made it so thick and sweet it necessitated the use of a fork to consume it. As he stood behind her, he found himself staring down at her hair, longing to touch it. He turned to look around the room. In the few months he'd lived here, this had been his domain. Christine seldom came in here except to talk to him. Now many of the shelves were empty of books, his lamp stood with its bulb bare, and there were copies of National Geographic, Newsweek and the Chicago Tribune and Sun-Times spread around over the coffee table and the desk that had been his. And there were bed pillows and a quilt on the sofa, as was the Kermit the Frog plush doll she always slept with.

She turned around to find him looking at that and knew that he'd already deduced the truth- that she'd been sleeping there of late. She cleared her throat and without making eye contact and simply said, "The coffee's all yours."

He'd had considerably more experience using the machine than she and make his espresso quickly. Once he'd made his own cup, he went over, moved Kermit to the side, and sat on the sofa to face her in the armchair. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he reached into his jacket and pulled out something which he handed to her. "I thought you should have Neil back," he said quietly.

She tried to hand it back, saying, "No, you should try and resell it if you don't want it. You must have paid a small fortune for it since he stopped signing autographs-"

"In 1992," he finished. "I know. You told me. No. I want you to keep it. It was a gift. The money doesn't matter. I got it for you because I love you."

"You…!" She caught herself. After a moment she said, "You _love_ me? How can you even _say_ that?"

"Because it's true! Look. I know I made a mistake. And believe me, I'll go to my grave regretting it, but-"

"You? You made a mistake?" Her hands began to shake so that she had to steady them on her knees. "I judged you to be guilty you before I even talked to you. I said vile things to you and threw you out with no place to go, and…" her voice caught as tears started to spill down her cheeks. She spoke again, her voice barely more than a whisper, "…and you're here telling me now that you _love_ me?"

"Chris, I…baby doll, please don't cry! I…" He reached over and pulled her hands away from her face. "Look at me, dear. I…" He stopped again and suddenly leaned forward and kissed her. When she put her arms around his neck, he reached out, took hold of her around her waist and moved her from the chair so she sat on his lap.

"Wait! Stop!" she said. "You're crushing Neil!" She held out the photograph she had let fall into her lap. "He's worth a lot of money!"

He took the photo from her and laid it aside. "Oh, shut up about the money, you crazy woman! I'm trying to apologize here. Believe me, I am more sorry than you could ever imagine, and I do love you more than you know."

She held him tightly and said, "I'm so sorry, too. You've no idea how much I've missed you."

He groaned softly and said, "God, I've missed you, too." He kissed her again deeply and when he felt her move one hand under his shirt and run the fingers of her other hand through his hair, laid her down on the sofa. Almost immediately he pulled off her shorts and panties. As she sat up to pull off her shirt he quickly undid his belt and pulled down his pants. He was so desperate for her he didn't even take them all the way off before he pulled her legs around his waist and took her. He planted his feet against the end of the sofa and used it as leverage to thrust into her as hard as he could. Almost immediately she began screaming and clawing at his back under his shirt. He continued his furious, relentless pace, for once not caring at all if Alex heard. By the time she reached her second climax he'd driven her so nearly mad that she raised her head up and bit him hard on the shoulder. "Dammit!" he cursed at the pain, sinking one hand in her hair and pulling her off him. But her wantonness turned him on so much that it drove him headlong into his own blinding orgasm and he crushed her to himself as she cried out and kicked beneath him.

After lying in her arms for a moment, he stood and pulled up his pants. He picked her shorts and panties up off the floor, redressed her like a child and then handed her back her shirt. Once she'd put it on, he held out his hand to help her up, saying, "Come on. Let's go upstairs and finish apologizing to one another there."

She started to follow him then cried out, "Wait! Stop!"

"What is it?"

"I forgot Kermie," she said. After running back to get him, she followed Spencer upstairs with the frog tucked under her arm.

"And _you_ make fun of _me_ for playing with dolls?" he teased.

"Hey, Kermie's not a doll- a Muppet, you dolt. They're real."

* * *

The next morning, Garcia was coming out of the break room with a cup of coffee when she saw Morgan walking into the office by himself. She hurried over to him, saying, "You're alone. Why are you alone? Where's sad Dr. Reid, lonely boy genius? Is he okay? Please tell me he's okay."

"I don't know, Baby Girl, but I'm guessing we'll find out soon enough. Last night Christine's brother stopped by my place and dragged him off to go see her. And since he didn't come back to my place last night, I figure either their little talk had a very happy ending, or we'll be called in to investigate when parts of his dismembered body start washing up along the banks of the Potomac."

"Stop it! Don't say that! Can't you just think happy thoughts for them?"

"Hey, I love them both, too, but you gotta admit- that girl's got a temper and she's a little bit crazy."

"Hush up! You're making me nervous now."

JJ walked up to them and asked, "What's going on? Where's Reid?"

"We don't know," Garcia answered. "Morgan says he went to see Christine last night and he never came home. So either they kissed and made up or she murdered him."

JJ laughed. "So what, are we placing bets now?"

"I've got $20 on murder, if you are," Elle said from her desk.

"So do I," said Morgan. "What? Don't look at me like that!"

"Come on, JJ!" Garcia pleaded, "Please tell me that you're not as cold and jaded as these two heartless people! I need to know at least one other person here believe in the power of love as strongly as I do!"

"I dunno, Garcia," she teased. "She is kinda crazy…".

"Ooooh! Look! Look! Here he comes!" she said, pointing to the elevators. "And…he's smiling! Hooray! Love wins!" She hurried off to hug Reid as soon he walked through the doors, saying as she went, "You two owe me $40, you know!"

* * *

A/N

If you're reading this and haven't seen notes on previous chapters, it's because I just started adding them on April 29, 2016. If you're interested, go back and check 'em out. Or don't. It's up to you.

The episode referenced in this episode is "Somebody's Watching," in which a pretty young starlet named Lila Archer is stalked by an admirer and Reid is assigned to protect her. The episode begins with Gideon and Reid speaking at a conference for the LAPD (Los Angeles Police Department), which I reference at the end of the previous chater. Later, while alone at Lila's home, she pulls Reid into her swimming pool and kisses him. Morgan arrives shortly thereafter with news on the case and finds a photographer in the bushes who caught the incident on film and destroys the pictures.

Apollo 11 was the NASA mission that first successfully landed human beings on the moon. Neil Armstrong was the commander, who together with Buzz Aldrin landed and set foot upon the surface of the moon on July 20, 1969, while their other team member, Mike Collins, piloted the command module which would eventually return them to Earth. After learning that his signature was being sold, Armstrong refused to autograph anything after 1992. It is said that after his death in 2012 due to complications from surgery, his became the most expensive autograph in the world to obtain. Of course, this takes place in 2006, but it was still a valuable piece of memorabilia, especially to a historian and geologist like Christine. Today, Mike Collins is alive and well, living in Florida. Buzz Aldrin is also still alive and kicking. If you're on Twitter, follow him at TheRealBuzz. He has the most epic #TBT pics ever. Seriously.


	13. Chapter 13

The BAU didn't take a case on Friday and the team members all spent the day in the office. Shortly before they began to leave for the day, Morgan approached Spencer and asked, "Hey, kid- a few of us were planning to go out for drinks after work. I don't suppose you'd want to come with?"

Spencer turned and saw that Garcia, Elle and JJ had also gathered around his desk. "I'm guessing you're extending this invitation because you're hoping to find out more about my personal life?" Their smiles told him the answer. "Look. Here's all you need to know- I went over last night to apologize to Chris. She also apologized to me, and after that, we…spent the rest of the night apologizing to one another."

"My man!" Morgan exclaimed, slapping him on the back. "So you're just going to go home tonight and 'apologize' some more?"

"That was my plan, yes."

Garcia squealed. "Yes! I knew it! I knew true love still existed in this world when all of you jaded cynics were telling me we'd find little chopped up Reid parts floating in the river!"

" _What?_ " Spencer asked.

"Nothing, nothing. The only thing that matters is that you're still alive and in love and that makes us all so very happy!" Garcia said, giving him a hug.

"Yeah…me too. But you guys have fun tonight, okay?" They all wished him a good night and as they started to leave, he said, "Hey, Morgan? Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure man. What's up?"

"I, um…I don't think I've properly thanked you for letting me stay with you. I was…well, you know how I was feeling. And you took me in and looked after me and let me turn your life upside down…"

"What? No, man. That was just me being a friend. Besides, you were no trouble at all. Hell, my apartment's never been so clean as when you were there," he laughed.

Spencer smiled. "Well, I can't help myself. I like things tidy. Anyway, it meant a lot. And I'll be back over tomorrow to get my things and give you back you your spare room."

"Sure, any time, kid. Any time. C'mere," he said, and gave Spencer a hug. "I'm just glad you're happy. That's all that matters." After Spencer picked up his bag, they walked out together. As they got on the elevator Morgan asked, "So wait- did you say _she_ apologized to _you_?"

"For throwing me out, yes."

"No kidding. I don't think I've ever had a woman apologize to me for anything. Now, I don't want to tell you how to live your life, but if I were you, I'd never let that woman go."

* * *

The next day, when Spencer and Christine went to go get his things, Alex stayed behind to straighten up the library so he could settle back in. She grumbled to herself at the mess her boss had left her. It was bad enough that she'd scattered newspapers and magazines everywhere. But she'd tried writing in there, too. Every time she'd been unhappy with something she'd torn a page out of her notebook, wadded it up, and tried to throw it into the garbage can several feet away. Either she had the worst aim ever or simply hadn't tried very hard at all to actually sink those shots, because there were balls of paper seemingly everywhere. And Christine hadn't been particularly careful about emptying the coffee grounds into the garbage either, and had managed to splatter coffee all about. She cleaned, swept and took out the garbage before hauling out a mop to go over the floors. She shook her head and resolved not to complain to Chris about it; after all, she'd had a rough week, and Alex knew she'd spent a lot of her time in here crying when she thought she couldn't be seen. Just as she was finishing up, she spotted Spud scratching and starting to squat in the potted palm she'd just watered. "Oh, for God's sake! You gotta be kidding me!" She quickly grabbed the cat and ran with it to the litter box in the mudroom. After Spud finished doing his business he tried to run across the floor with his muddy paws, so she grabbed him again, took him upstairs to her bathroom and thought she'd try and give him a bath. She'd never kept an indoor cat before and was hoping to ask Chris for permission to adopt a puppy next, but having little dirty paw prints everywhere would not work in her favor. She wrestled the unwilling cat into the tub and turned on the shower, which sent the poor animal flying for the door. She caught him, hauled him back, and held him by the collar with one hand while trying to shampoo him with the other. Several very long minutes and tiny little scratches later, she wrapped him in a towel and sat on the floor of the bathroom singing and trying to calm him until he stopped shaking. Downstairs, she heard the front door open. When she opened the bathroom door to go down to help Spencer and Christine bring things in, Spud bolted out and disappeared.

When she got to the door to offer her help, Spencer stopped and stared at her with his mouth agape. Christine was even less subtle. "What the hell happened to you?" she asked.

Alex looked down at herself. She was wet and muddy and scratched. She could imagine what her hair must look like. She sighed heavily. "I was cleaning, then Spud tried to take a dump in a muddy flower pot and…then I tried to give him a bath."

"You tried to give a cat a bath? Oh. My. God. I'm truly sorry I missed that!" Christine laughed so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

"Yeah. Haha. It was hysterical," she said sarcastically as she went out and helped bring in boxes.

After they'd brought in the last of Spencer's things, Christine said to him, "Hey, you've got this, right?"

"Yeah, I'll deal with the unpacking. I prefer to do it myself, actually," he answered.

"Cool. Then I'll go start on lunch. Alex, sweet pea- you go on and take a shower and relax. Sounds like you've done enough for the day."

After he finished putting his books away, Spencer was on his way up the stairs to unpack his clothes when he heard a crash and a scream from the other end of the hall. He ran down and knocked on Alex's bathroom door. "Alex? What's wrong?"

"Get Chris. Please! Hurry!"

He tried the door. It was locked. He felt above the doorframe for the key he knew Christine had put there in case of emergency, "Alex! What happened?"

"Don't come in! Just get Chris!" As she heard the door unlock she screamed, "Stop! There's glass everywhere! I'm naked!"

He didn't open the door very far. He couldn't see Alex, but there was indeed shattered glass all over the and in the mirror he could see a bloody handprint on the wall. He turned and screamed for Christine.

As she began running up the stairs, she asked, "What is it?"

"I think Alex cut herself- badly."

"What? How…?" she asked as she ran past.

As she opened the door, Alex called out, "Careful! There's glass everywhere…"

"Oh, sweat pea! What did you do to yourself?" Christine exclaimed and fell to her knees before her.

Through the opened door, Spencer could now see Alex. She was sitting on the toilet lid, dripping wet, shivering, and wrapped in a towel. Her arms and hands were bloodied, and the flood was covered in broken glass that must have once been the shower door. He also noticed why Alex had been so afraid to let him see her- on her one thigh he saw terrible burn scars, and her back was also covered with scars from what were likely cigarette burns and cuts. Christine inspected her wounds, speaking softly and soothingly to the frightened girl as she did so. Turning to him as he stood in the doorway, she said, "Call 911, Spencer. We'll need a transport; some of these cuts may require stitches." Then she stood up, pushed him into the hallway and hissed at him, "Now you know her story. Happy? Quit staring at her and go make yourself useful!" When she returned to the bathroom, she called out sweetly to him, "Sweetheart, please bring her some clothes, too. I've got a sleeveless, button-down blouse. Get that."

Spencer did as he was told and when they heard the sirens coming up the drive, they helped Alex down the stairs. It was decided Christine would ride with her, while he followed with a car. After waiting alone for them for nearly an hour in the hospital lobby, Christine came out to him, her shirt flecked with blood. She sat down heavily in the chair beside him and pointed to his coffee. "Where can I get my hands on some of that?"

After buying Christine a cup of coffee, they sat down and Spencer asked finally got to ask, "So what happened?"

As she blew on her coffee, she said, "Do you mean today, or are you asking about the scars?"

"Both."

"Well, as to the former, she said she'd just turned off the water in the shower when the glass on the door looked like it was moving. Then she put up her hands to hold it steady and it just exploded. I dunno. That's what she said. As to the latter…" she sighed heavily, "that is something you'll need to ask her about. I can't say."

"Oh, come on, Christine! We're not schoolchildren keeping playground secrets from one another! I should know these things- after all, we are-"

"We are what, Spencer? We're not married. I have no obligation to tell you everything!"

"I was going to saw we are practically family, the three of us. I think so, anyway."

She looked at him for a long while and finally said, "That's very sweet of you to say. I've always felt Alex is more like a little sister I'm supposed to look out than an employee. I'm glad you see her like that, too."

"I do. Which is why I feel I deserve to know. Chris," he paused for a moment and continued softly, "if that girl has been through the kind of abuse I'm thinking, she doesn't need to be on the road with you- she needs be in therapy."

"Don't you think I know that? I only found out about the scars about a month ago myself! I mean, I knew her mom was a mean drunk, and I suspected the reason why she likes animals so much is probably because-"

"Because they won't hurt her like people do."

"Yeah. Exactly. But that's why I _can't_ tell you everything, Spencer! She made me promise not to tell anyone. And right now, I'm the only person besides her grandma she trusts. I can't violate that! I'm the only human she sees as a friend out here, just me and that goofy cat…"

"What about me?"

"Has she ever actually spoken to you? I mean, a real conversation?"

"No. You're right. She hasn't."

"So give her time. She knows you're a good man. But she's so ashamed of those scars that it's going to take some time. Don't think of her as some witness that needs to be interrogated. Think of her as a sad, scared little girl and as a friend."

Spencer nodded. "I still think you need to get her into therapy, though. She's got to understand those aren't her fault; she doesn't need to be embarrassed by them."

"I know that. The people who mistreated her- they're the ones who deserve the shame. If I ruled the world, they'd get far worse than that, believe you me! And we've already spoken about it; she wants to finish the last three weeks of the tour with me. She's still not sold on the idea of therapy, but I think I can convince her." Christine's cell phone rang. After speaking briefly, she said, "That was her. They've finished patching her up and are discharging her now. Luckily she didn't need many stitches. Hopefully this won't leave her with any more scars- that's the last thing she needs. You go get the car while I bring her out, okay?"

They let Alex choose what to have for dinner that night; they brought home pizza and ice cream for sundaes. After stuffing themselves, Alex found Spud and carried him with her to sit on the veranda; it was a pleasant evening, and with her bandages she couldn't help with the washing up, anyway. When Spencer followed Christine into the kitchen, she said, "Go. Leave the dishes and just go talk to her. And if you can't talk, just sit there quietly. See what happens."

He went out and sat down on chair near Alex. After a few moments he said, "Can I tell you something?"

She didn't look at him, but shifted in her seat away from him. "I don't what to talk about it."

"I wasn't going to talk about you. But would you listen while I tell you about me?"

"Okay…"

"There's something not too many people know about me. Even my friends at work don't know, because even though it's not my fault, it still feels kind of embarrassing to talk about."

"If it's not your fault, then why are you embarrassed?"

"Because I worry that if people knew it, they'd think there was something wrong with me, too."

"It can't be that bad."

"It still hurts when I talk about it though. My mom, she's, uh…she's in a mental institution. And that's not her fault, either. It's no one's fault, really. She's just sick. She has schizophrenia."

"Is that the one where you hear voices?"

"Yeah. That's not the only form of it, but in her case, yes."

"Do they help her there?"

"Yes, actually. They make sure she takes her medication, they treat her very nicely, they have activities to do and a nice garden outside- even the food is pretty good. And when she has a bad day, they can help her with that, too. It's a good place for her to be."

"So why are you embarrassed by that?"

"Because a lot of people know now that schizophrenia can be inherited, and that if my mother has it, I might get it, too. And I don't want people to think I might be crazy. But also because..." he stopped, suddenly felt himself getting very choked up. "Because I'm the one who put her there. I sent her there. And even though I know it's the best place for her, I still feel guilty. I feel like I'm a bad son, because she's my mom and my responsibility. It's my job to take care of her, and I've failed."

Alex reached into her pocket and pulled out a packet of tissues, which she handed to Spencer. "Here," she said, "so you don't have to use your hand like you-know-who…"

He laughed. "Chris never has a tissue when she needs one, does she?"

"No, she does not."

"Anyway, look. We've all got things in our lives that hurt us, that we don't want others to know about. Sometimes they're things that aren't our fault, but that doesn't make us feel any better about them, right? But generally, when we do tell people, they don't blame us or treat us like we're weird or bad at all."

Alex bristled again. "I said, I don't want to talk about it."

"I know. I respect that. But I also know from my own experience with my mom that mental healthcare is a _good_ thing. And I think you should talk to someone. It's not because you're bad or crazy or because there's anything wrong with you at all. It's because you're a good person. You are an important person. You are a person many people love and care about, and you are my friend. You _deserve_ to have someone to talk to. You _deserve_ to have someone pay attention to you, someone who will listen to anything you have to say, who won't judge you and who will keep all your secrets. You're worth it, Alex. I'm not your boss, so I can't tell you what to do, but I am your friend, and I hope that you'll take care of yourself, okay?"

"Okay. I'll think about it."

"Thanks." He stood up and bent down to scratch Spud's head. "I think I'll go in; it's getting chilly out here."

"Okay. Good night, Spencer."

"You too, Alex."

He made it a few feet inside the door when Christine came around the corner and threw her arms around him. "Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For being you. For being my hero." She kissed him on the cheek and they went upstairs.

After getting ready for bed and turning out the lights, they got in bed. Christine turned onto her side and put her forehead against his chest with a sigh. He stroked her hair and they lay silently for a moment. Finally, Spencer said, "It's been an eventful day…"

"It's been an eventful week."

"True. It didn't exactly turn out as I had hoped. I suppose I'm largely to blame for that…"

"I don't want to talk about that."

"You sound like Alex."

"Well, it still hurts. And I'm still a little angry about it. But I suppose I can deal with it…"

"You shouldn't hold it all in. Thoughts and feelings like that will only fester and spread, like an infection." He held her quietly in the dark. After a few minutes, he felt her shoulders shake and knew she was crying. Suddenly she sat up, wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in her knees. He sat up, too, and rubbed her back.

Finally she said, "I can't…I mean…how can I…I can't compete with that! She's so tall and blonde and beautiful…me, I'm nothing. I'm just…me. I can never be the kind of woman you want…"

"Baby doll," he said, putting his arm around her waist, "you already _are_ the woman I want!"

"And I believed that, but then I ran out to the store and saw that magazine in the checkout lane…do you know how that felt? How humiliated I was? I even got phone calls this week from people I know who recognized you! And all I could think was, 'Yep. I'll never be able to keep this guy. He's realized he can do better', and I'll be damned if that isn't what you did!"

"But that isn't what happened at all!" he said!

"And I know rationally that there had to be some explanation. When I calmed down, I knew you deserved to be given the benefit of the doubt, and that I'd been wrong to throw you out without hearing your side of the story. And when you came here to apologize to me, I knew you were sorry, that you still loved me and that I'd overreacted," she stopped and wiped her eyes and continued, "but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt."

"I know it did. And I am so very sorry for doing that to you. I never should have put myself in that position, and I wish I could travel back in time and undo it all. But I need you to listen to me now," he put his hand on her face and turned it to look at him. "I've met a lot of beautiful women. I've met a lot of intelligent women. And since I've been spending time with you, I've also met a lot of very funny women. You are all these things, but there's more. Because when I'm with you, you remind me of the beauty of the cherry blossoms on the Mall, and how even when the petals fall, they do so in a lovely pink snow. You're silly and ridiculous and unpredictable. I never know quite what's going to come out of your mouth and you drive me crazy. And I think you know you drive me crazy and sometimes you do it on purpose anyway! But it's fun. It's sweet. And as frustrating as you are to me sometimes, I…I like it! You make me feel like a different man when I'm around you- someone who's more whole, more free, and much more happy. And I love you for that more than I can tell you. But I do love you. And Lila- she was nothing more than a mistake. Nothing at all compared to you." He put his arms around her and pulled her back down. "Come on, now. You have to leave again on Monday. So at least let me hold you until then, okay?"

He lay quietly with her, stroking her hair. When he'd felt her relax and heard her breathing slow, he allowed himself to drift off. He was soon roused by her fingers playing with the buttons on his pajamas. In the dark he smiled and said, "Hey- just what are you doing now?"

"I dunno. I guess just because I'm kinda still mad at you doesn't mean I don't think you're still sweet and sexy and smell really good…but if you want me to, I'll stop."

"Yeah, I'm not really in the mood tonight, you know?" he said jokingly.

"Okay, that's cool," she replied, turning over.

"Oh, no you don't! You're not getting away from me that easily tonight!" He rolled her back over and kissed her as he started taking his pajamas off. She giggled as he pulled off her panties then sat up, took off the old t-shirt she'd worn to bed and climbed astride him.

As he grasped her hips and tried to pull her down onto him she pulled back, saying, "Oh no you don't! You don't get to call the shots tonight, mister! You're in trouble, so tonight I'm in charge!"

"Aren't you always?" he teased.

"Maybe I should be!" She moved her hips against him until he groaned. He was dying to enter her, but each time he tried she moved away. He moved his fingers to her breasts- he knew that when he fondled them and lightly pinched her nipples just so she'd be unable to resist him. But this time she merely moaned, grasped his erection and rubbed it against her until it was clear she was climaxing. Again he grabbed her hips and tried to pull her down and once more she resisted until he was clenching his teeth in frustration. Finally she lowered herself onto him, eliciting from him a groan. He tried to move quickly, by now desperate for release, but she raised herself back up off him. She repeated this three more times until he finally relinquished control over their encounter fully. She then began to move slowly at first, then gradually faster and faster until she finally commanded him, "Hurry, Spencer! Hurry! Oh god…now, baby! NOW!" But her orders were useless; by now he couldn't have halted his orgasm even if he'd wanted to. And he didn't want to. He couldn't even keep quiet, but rather held her tightly against his chest while shouting her name. As their cries dissolved into murmurs and kisses, they clung to one another, steadying their breathing until she sat up, climbed off, and announced, "Take that, Spencer Reid! That's what you get for being a naughty boy!"

"Baby doll," he said, still trying to catch his breath, "if you're trying to give me a reason _not_ to misbehave, I think you're doing it wrong."

"Uh oh. Well, maybe I'll just have to keep trying until I find something you don't like."

"Oh, I think you can try all you want, but I don't think you'll find a way I won't enjoy!"

"Dammit! Then I'll just have to make you promise me."

"Anything."

"Don't ever let me catch you messing around with another woman again. If you do, I might just cut your balls off and stuff them down your throat until you choke to death on them. And you know I might just be crazy enough to do it, too."

"Sometimes you terrify me, dear. But I promise. Not for the sake of my testicles, but because I love you."

"I love you, too!"

After a moment he added, "even though you're crazy."

She laughed loudly. "Yes I am, but that's why you love me."

"One of the many reasons."

* * *

Monday morning he saw her off as she left for the last few weeks of her tour. He stayed busy with new cases. By the time she returned, they only had a day to spend together before the BAU was called in to investigate the possibility of an intelligence leak at CIA headquarters. It was a local case, but it ran late into the evening; she was in bed by the time he returned home. When he climbed in next to her he wasn't sorry he woke her. He had news- they'd all been given two weeks vacation.

"You're kidding!" she exclaimed, suddenly awake. "Any ideas what you want to do?"

"Well, I was thinking that I'd take at least a few days to visit my mother…"

"YES! Vegas, baby, here I come!"

"Okay. See that right there? That's precisely what I was worried about."

"What?"

"If you're turned loose in Las Vegas you may require more adult supervision than I'm able to provide on my own, Christine, especially if you consider I'll be spending at least some of my time with my mother."

"Don't you want me to go with to meet your mother?" It was too dark to see her face, but he could hear in her voice she was hurt.

"I've written to her about you, but in all her letters back she's never mentioned or asked about you at all. So I'd at least like to have some time alone with her to ascertain just how much she understands before I introduce you to her. It's been a while since I've seen her, and frankly, I won't be able to accurately gauge her level of awareness and comprehension until I speak with her myself."

"I suppose you're right- on both accounts. I probably would just be really bored until we're able to spend time together. So maybe you should go first and then I'll just follow after a few days?"

"That's what I was thinking. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I've got enough to take care of around here anyway, what with Alex starting counseling and all..."

"She is? That's great!" He pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

After a few minutes cuddling next to him she said, "Okay. Enough of that. Now let's get down to business!"

"Yes ma'am!" he said, laughing as he kissed her and pulled down his pajama bottoms.

* * *

A/N

The episode referenced at the end of this chapter is "Secrets and Lies," in which the BAU is called in to investigate a possible intelligence leak at the CIA. The FBI has it's headquarters in Quantico, Virginia, while the CIA headquarters are located further north and west, in Langley, Virginia, which lies directly across the Potomac River from Washington, DC. During this episode, Spencer Reid is assigned to investigate a CIA operative who graduated college at 18 and has an IQ of 195 named Kruger Spence. Am I the only one who's ever thought it was strange that the scriptwriters gave the CIA's resident genius a last name that's nearly identical to our favorite profiler's first name?

When Spencer talks about "the cherry blossoms on the Mall," he's speaking of the very prominent Japanese cherry trees that have been planted there. In 1912, the Mayor of Tokyo gave to the city of Washington, DC a gift of over 3,000 trees which were planted all over the National Mall. In 1965, the city received another gift from the people of Japan of 3,800 more cherry trees. They typically blossom at the end of March through the beginning of April. If you've never seen them in bloom, do a Google image search- they're pretty spectacular.


	14. Chapter 14

It was a gloriously warm, sunny day, but that was nothing unusual- not in Honolulu. Christine had always loved the islands; she'd spent a few summers here as a student. Few places in the world could be more fascinating to a geologist than the chain of islands that were home to the world's most active volcano. In fact, she'd hoped at one time to study at UH Manoa, but her parents had refused to let her move 4,500 miles away from home.

She still couldn't believe Spencer had finally acquiesced to her demands to vacation here. It seemed like a dream. They loaded their beach towels and sunscreen into their rental car and headed to Oahu's north shore. She insisted they take the scenic route- over the Ko'olaus via the Pali Highway to Kailua, then north up the Kamehameha Highway past Pupukea to Waimea Bay. He'd complained about beaches; she assured him their would be no shorebirds to crap on him here, and the views would be stunning. After parking their car, she bolted out the door and onto the beach. She quickly shed the shirt and shorts she'd had on over her bikini, kicked off her flipflops and ran to the water, leaving him to follow with the rest of their things. It was almost summer; the monster waves of the winter season were gone and the ocean was so pertfectly calm that no matter how far she seemed to swim from the shore she could still see clearly down to the ocean floor.

She was heading for a small cluster of dark, round objects she'd seen bobbing in the water. As she drew closer, she noticed two things that told her she'd found what she'd been hoping to see. The first was the hollow, almost wooden sound made when the shells bumped together as they floated on the surface; the second was the tourists, the goddamned ever-present tourists, who had also swam out to see them. When she saw one of them swim too close and reach out a hand to touch one, she became enraged. Hawaiian green sea turtles were a endangered species, and as such it was illegal to touch them. She couldn't quite make out what language they were speaking, so she simply yelled at them in English to get their filthy fucking paws away from the turtles or else she'd have the lifeguard call the cops on them and they could spend the rest of their dream vacations in jail. She wasn't sure they could understand what she was saying, but she was certain they knew precisely what she meant when they turned around and started swimming away. Suddenly she felt something nudge her leg. She looked down, hoping to see whatever it was that had touched her, but found nothing. She turned her attention back to the turtles and felt another nudge against her belly. Again, she saw nothing that could have touched her in the water. All at once she became aware of a strange fishy smell- not the normal oceanic smell of the water. This was more like…like canned tuna, not spoiled, but still somehow foul. Bewildered, she began to swim back to the shore. When she reached shallower water she stood up to look at Spencer, who was pointing and trying to yell to her something she couldn't hear. Suddenly, a tremendous wave fell on her, throwing her face-first onto the beach, so that her cheek skidded along the sand…

She woke with a start to see Spud breathing in her face and licking her cheek. "Oh, ew! Get off me! Quit breathing your nasty fish breath on me!"

Looking past the cat, she saw Alex standing in the door to her closet, laughing. "Sorry, boss. But you gotta admit it's cute how much he likes you!"

"I'll admit no such thing," she grumbled, pulling the covers up.

"Anyway, you told me you wanted to be up by 10:30. I figured you hadn't packed, so I thought I'd do it for you." Today was the day she was to leave to meet Spencer in Las Vegas. He'd left two days prior.

"Oh yeah. Thanks," she said sitting up. As soon as she'd done so, Spud curled up on Spencer's side of the bed and closed his eyes. "Figures," she added, sticking her tongue out at the cat.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, until this hairy beast woke me. I dreamed…something about a beach. In Hawaii. It was a good dream. I wish I could have gotten Spencer to spend a week there…"

"Don't you wanna meet his mom?"

"I do," she said, yawning. "I do. But that will only take a few days, right? He's got two weeks off…"

"I dunno. Vegas sounds like fun, too. Do you want coffee? I made some."

"Thanks. You're a peach." Christine swung her legs over the side of the side of the bed and was stretching when her phone started buzzing on her nightstand. She picked it up, saw who was calling and said, "That's him."

"Tell him I say hi!"

Answering the phone she said, "Hey, sweet cheeks! We were just talking about you! How's everything-" she stopped mid-sentence, which brought Alex back to the doorway to listen. "So what are you…it came to you where? But how…oh…uh huh…" she stood up, walked to the bedroom door and shut and locked it. "I see…yeah, I mean, it's no problem…" She continued walking around the room slowly, pulling the curtains shut and locking the windows. She gestured for Alex to do the same to the rest of the windows. "Yeah, sweetheart, I understand…no, no. Don't apologize…yeah…yeah….okay, I will…we'll wait until then…alright, then…have a safe trip. I love you, too." She sat for a moment on the bed.

"Boss?" Alex asked.

Christine turned and saw she'd frightened the younger woman. "Alex," she said calmly, "do you know how to handle a firearm?"

"Only BB guns…why? What's happening?"

"Shh," she said, putting her arms around Alex. "Don't worry. It'll be alright. I'm a pretty good shot, myself, and it's probably nothing, anyway."

" _What's going on?_ " Alex almost screamed.

Christine walked past her to the gun safe in the closet and opened it. She took out a 9mm pistol, loaded it, and explained to Alex, "Someone is hurting people and leaving messages about it with members of Spencer's team. He himself received something addressed to him delivered to his mother's hospital, which means if they know where he is on vacation, they also know where he lives. So I just want to be careful. This is a big house. You don't go anywhere right now without me, okay?"

Alex nodded.

"Have you been outside today?"

"No."

"And you're certain all the doors are still locked?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then. In about an hour an agent is going to come and take us to FBI headquarters just to be safe. We may have to spend the night, so let's go down to your room and pack a little bag, and I'll pack one, too. Come on, don't cry," she said, hugging Alex again. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you. We're just doing this out of an abundance of caution, anyway."

"What about Spud?"

"Don't worry- he's coming, too."

Both women got their things into a single overnight case, showered, got Spud into his carrier, gathered up some snacks for the three of them and Spud's travel litter box, and went downstairs to wait for their escort.

Alex looked at her boss. She was tense, and the fact that she wasn't even making jokes about their situation bothered her even more- it was strange for her to go so silent. Finally, she said, "Hey, do you think we should bring some games?"

"Huh? Oh yeah. That might help. Grab a deck of cards, and whatever's in the closet, there. We should be able to fit a few things in our bag." After a moment she said, "I think someone's here. You stay there." She picked her gun up from the table and walked to the foyer, holding it behind her back.

Christine waited for the bell to ring and opened the door. "Are you Ms. Arcangeli?" the young man standing there asked.

"Yes. May I see your credentials?" The young man held them out. Tucking her gun into the back of her jeans she said, "Take it out of there. Just do it. If a guy can find out personal information on one of your agents, I'll bet he can make a good fake ID, too, but I know what Spencer's looks like…" She held the ID up in the light and felt it. She opened the door further to look out at his vehicle.

"Is there a problem?"

"Just making sure there's government tags on your SUV over there. Well, Grant, you look legit," she said handing him back his ID.

"It's Agent Anderson, ma'am."

"I prefer Grant. Come on, Alex- let's go."

As she turned to help carry their things, Anderson said, "Ma'am, you cannot bring a firearm with you," pointing to her weapon.

"Really. I wasn't aware that one was required to surrender their rights of citizenship when in protective custody."

"It's for both our safety, ma'am." Christine grumbled as she stashed it in the drawer of foyer table when Anderson spoke again. "And you most definitely cannot bring that animal with," pointing to the rolling carrier Alex was pulling behind her.

Christine spun around and faced him. "Spud is a member of my family, same as Alex. And if you think I'm going to leave him here for some psychopath to go all _Fatal Attraction_ on him, you'd better think again, sir!"

"I'm sorry, but it's against regulations, and Agent Hotchner would be furious if-"

"Well, then you have a decision to make, Grant, because we're not leaving without the cat. So either you can bend the rules a little bit, or you can call Aaron and tell him you failed in your one little assignment to persuade two women to go with you to Quantico. Which do you think would piss him off more, hm? I just hope someone films it when you tell him the latter, because I'd love to see how he reacts to your ineptitude."

Anderson knew she was right- he'd be in trouble either way. And frankly, he was more afraid of Dr. Reid's tiny little girlfriend at that moment than he was of Agent Hotchner. At least he knew he could trust Hotch to behave somewhat reasonably. So he nodded and let the women load the cat into the SUV along with the rest of their things. As Christine locked the door of the house behind them, Alex asked her, "How long before we get to come back, do you think?"

"Hopefully before the house plants die," she said with a little smile. "Come on, let's not think about that now, okay?"

When they arrived at the Hoover Building an hour and a half later, Christine took their overnight bag and led the way to the sixth floor, with Alex close behind with the litter box and Spud in tow. They went into Gideon's office where they'd been told to wait until one of the interview rooms could be made available. Anderson followed, carrying a few shopping bags and boxes. Stepping out of the conference room, Hotch spotted him awkwardly juggling the packages and said sternly, "Agent Anderson! What on earth has taken you so long? It's been over two hours since I sent you to take a one hour trip! And what is all this?"

"Sir, they're…they're cupcakes sir. And cookies. And there's some books in the bags."

"Anderson, need I remind you that you are an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and that as such it is your responsibility to follow my direct orders, which as I recall were to bring Ms. Arcangeli and Ms. McNally here as quickly and safely as possible."

"Yes sir, but-"

"There is no 'but' here, Anderson! This was not the time for you to be doing some personal shopping!"

"No sir, but…but they forced me to."

"Forced you, Anderson?"

"Yes sir. They said they needed something to eat and some magazines and…well, Ms. Arcangeli can be very insistent and persuasive. And she's kind of scary, sir."

"It's me of whom you should be scared, Agent."

"Yes sir. Um…sir?"

"Yes?"

"There's one other thing they brought I think you should know about."

"What's that, Anderson?"

"A cat, sir."

"You let them bring an _animal_ here?"

Just then Christine came out of the office and slapped Hotch on the back. "Hey there, Chief! How's it hanging? Say, have you figured out yet how to remove that colon blockage we discussed earlier? You know, I could put you in touch with an excellent proctologist I know. He's kinda tall and creepy and looks about like you'd expect for a guy who looks up butts for a living, but he really knows his shit- both literally and figuratively."

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I will have to ask you to take this situation a bit more seriously. We are not in one of your comedy clubs now where you have the luxury of turning everything into a joke! This is _my_ unit, these are _my_ agents, and it is _my_ job to insure that they perform the jobs I assign to them in the manner in which I expect them to do them! And furthermore, about this nonsense involving your bringing a house pet into these offices-"

"Grant," Christine said, "Why don't you go on and take those in the office, would you? And help yourself to a few more sweets for your troubles- you've been a real peach." When he'd gone into through the door, Christine grabbed Hotch's arm and forced him back into his own office. After shutting the door behind them, she turned, stepped forward to stand toe to toe with him and said in a low, furious voice, "You wanna play the boss card with me? Is that the route you really wanna go down? Well then listen up, Aaron, and listen carefully- someone accessed personal information about your agents, which put them and everyone they associate with in harm's way. And I don't give a damn who's fault it was, because as the boss, ultimately it is _your_ responsibility. It's your unit and it's your fault. And through no fault of my own, both my employee and I were also put at risk. As her boss, Alex is _my_ responsibility. That girl in there has lived through a hell you know nothing about, and I'd rather be damned to Hell for all eternity than to let her think I wouldn't take care of her and keep her safe at all costs. And if that means I have to browbeat your agent into letting her keep her goofy-ass cat with her, buy her cupcakes or crack jokes like everything's normal so she can't tell how scared I really am, then by God, that's exactly what I'm going to do. Because even if you don't know how to keep your people safe, I do know how to keep mine safe, and that's exactly what I'm going to do, because to her, _I_ am the boss, and that's what a good boss does. Have I made myself abundantly clear, Unit Chief Hotchner?"

"Yes ma'am. Perfectly."

"Glad to hear it. Now march your happy little ass on over there, smile at Alex, pet the cat, and eat a goddamned cupcake like a normal fucking human being because they're delicious, and God knows you could use a little sweetening up." With that, she opened the door, pointed to it, and followed him into Gideon's office.

"Hey, Mr. Hotchner," said Alex, holding out a bakery box with one hand and holding a partially eaten cupcake in another, "want some? We got plenty to share…"

"Thank you, Ms. McNally. Maybe just a cookie."

"It's Alex. And that's Spud in the case. Thanks for taking care of us."

"Well, that's my job. Though no doubt Christine could have scared off any attacker on her own, I'm sure."

Alex laughed, spraying cupcake crumbs. Holding her hand to her mouth in embarrassment she giggled, "You're probably right about that!"

"Well, you ladies make yourselves at home until we have better quarters available to you. And please don't let that cat loose."

"Aye aye, skipper," Christine called as he walked out the door.

Hotch was seated at his desk when Spencer knocked and stuck his head in the door. "I heard they're here. Is everything okay?"

"That's something of a subjective term. Alex is a delight. Christine is…a handful. It seems she bullied Anderson into letting them bring a cat with and stop for baked goods on their way here."

Spencer stepped in the door. "Yeah, that sounds like her. But I appreciate it. And as strange as it may seem, I'm sure her motive was not to be difficult or obnoxious, but to create an air of normalcy for Alex who's going through a difficult time right now."

"Yes, well, the best thing we can do for them now- for all of us- is to work the profile and find the unsub. How are things with your mother?"

"She should be here in a few hours. How is your family?"

"I sent Haley and Jack back with Anderson to gather a few things. Let's make sure we end this quickly so they can all get back to their lives. Tell the team I will meet you all in the conference room in 10 minutes."

"Yes sir."

After they'd been moved from Gideon's office, the door to the interview room opened and Christine and Alex looked up to see a tall, pretty lady with a baby come in. "What've they got you in for?" Christine asked.

"My husband had us brought here in protective custody. And you are…?"

"Chris. This is my assistant Alex, and that's Spud the Wonder Kitty. I hope you're not allergic."

"No, not at all. So why are you here? Are you…victims of this man?"

"Oh, I guess you could say we're only victims in the same sense as you. Victimization by association, I suppose you could say. I'm living with boyfriend, Agent Reid, and Alex lives me."

"Oh? I wasn't aware Dr. Reid had a significant other." She paused, looking at Christine for a moment before saying, "You look terribly familiar, though. Have we met?"

"Mmmm, pretty sure we haven't. I'd remember someone with cheekbones and a smile like that," Christine said.

"Ever watch late night TV?" Alex asked.

"Mostly just Letterman and…oh my god…wait. Take your glasses off for a moment. Yes! Now I recognize you! You're…you're…that comedian with the Italian name, am I right?"

"Arcangeli. Yeah, that's me," Christine answered with a laugh. "By the way, we brought sweets and magazines and word searches and crossword puzzles if you get bored. What's you're name?"

"Haley Hotchner. It's so nice to meet you!"

"Holy shit. You don't say? That guy has a wife? And a kid, too? How did that happen? I mean, I'm not one to pry into other people's business, but damn! Here I've been laboring under the opinion that the reason that guy is so uptight is he's just not gettin' any, you know? Who'd have thought he had a hot wife with whom he actually reproduced? Cute kid, by the way. You did make him the old fashioned way, right?"

Haley laughed as she peeled the paper from a cupcake, "Yes, we did. You know, he's not always like that. Well, he certainly wasn't before he came to the BAU, anyway." She took a bite and continued a little bitterly, "This job really consumes him..."

"I know. Spencer talks in his sleep sometimes…"

"You never told me that," Alex said.

"No. I haven't even told him. I don't think he's aware of it. Sometimes it's just muttering I can't make out. Other times it's completely mundane stuff, like arguing with Morgan about eating his candy. And sometimes it's stuff I don't fully understand but I know is disturbing and distressing to him. But it's always about this job. Dreams are the mind's way of processing and making sense of all the sensory input we receive throughout the day. He can't escape it even when he's asleep." She paused for a moment to sip her coffee and continued, "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I hold your husband partly responsible for that. I think he pushes him too hard, and gives too little consideration to the fact that he needs to have a life outside the BAU."

Haley smiled weakly, "Well, if it's any consolation, I don't think he pushes any members of his team harder than he pushes himself, and he doesn't spend any more time at home with us than Spencer does with you. He's not a bad man. Quite the opposite. But…it's everything that's so good in him that drives him to work all the harder at this job. Sometimes I think he's more married to this job and more of a father to his team than he is to me or Jack."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Oh, I know. It's just…he's become so different since taking this job. You should have known him before; you'd have liked him. He has a wonderful sense of humor when he permits himself to laugh."

* * *

A few hours later, Spencer opened the door to the interview room to see Alex sitting on the floor with Jack on her lap, dangling a little plush mouse in the air to get Spud to jump and make the little boy laugh. Christine was sitting on the table saying to a laughing Haley, "I am dead serious! And the cop said to me, 'Not only does she huff that shit, she's a smoker, too!'"

"No!"

"Yes! And he said, 'Yeah, she's shacking up with Old Eddie Anderson and she was huffing on his enclosed front porch and decided to light up a cigarette afterwards. Blew the whole damned porch a foot off the front of the house. And there it sits, lookin' like shit, 'cause he ain't the money to repair it.'"

"No way. You have got to be making that up."

"Actually," Spencer interjected, "She's not. There really is a woman in town who huffs propane to get high, she is a smoker, and I was with her when we drove past Mr. Anderson's house to view the damage to his porch. It's all true." Christine hopped down off the table when she saw who stood next to him. "Mom," he said to her, "This is Mrs. Hotchner, her son Jack, and my friends Alex and Christine. Everybody, this is my mother, Diana Reid."

After a round of hellos Haley stood and said, "Say, Alex, why don't we take Jack and Spud on a tour of the office?"

"Yeah, sure," said Alex, handing Jack back to his mother and putting Spud's leash on him.

Once they were left alone, Christine asked Diana, "We have some cookies and cupcakes left. Would you like some?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied, helping herself to a cookie. "So, are you the young lady my son's been seeing?"

"Yes ma'am. And I'm very pleased to finally meet you, though I am sorry for the circumstances."

"I understand they have us all locked up here because of me."

"No, not at all. The measures are a bit draconian, I agree. But ultimately it's the criminal they're trying to catch who's put us here; that's not your fault."

"Has my son told you much about me, that I'm crazy?"

Christine laughed. "Ma'am, Spencer has only spoken to me of you with the highest of praise. As for your condition, you have a legitimate mental illness, which is no more your fault than someone who develops an unpreventable physical illness. Only the narrow-minded and fools blame people with cerebral palsy or Parkinson's disease for their conditions. And I'd like to think I'm neither narrow-minded nor a fool. Besides, crazy is nothing more than a term used to describe someone who acts or thinks in a manner that is different than what is generally considered to be normal. By that definition, I'm pretty crazy myself. In fact, Spencer likes to tell me that I'm crazy and that he should know, because he does crazy for a living."

Diana chuckled. "He told me you were both funny and kind."

"Well, life's too short to be unkind, and being funny is both my job and the only thing I feel keeping me sane sometimes. See, I've had some times in my life when I was pretty seriously depressed. It's hard being the smallest and smartest kid in class sometimes. But when you add in red hair, freckles, glasses and a speech impediment too, that doesn't exactly equal social success, you know? Then just before I turned 18 I was diagnosed with cancer, and I suddenly had to confront the fact that I could die without ever really having lived. I started seeing a therapist who urged me to journal about some of the painful experiences I had, and when I'd read them later I realized that some of the things I'd done or had done to me that hurt me in the moment were actually kind of funny. I learned my best chance at staying on an even keel, to keep myself out of that dark place I'd been in, is to find reasons to laugh. Some people, like that lady's husband- the one with the baby?- I'm pretty sure he hates me. I can be obnoxious and don't seem to take things seriously. But that's how I cope with feeling scared or sad or insecure. Now, my issues may not seem as serious as schizophrenia, but it would have killed me had I let it. So believe me when I tell you I applaud and admire you for fighting so hard against such a brutal disease for so long. That is a kind of courage I don't know if I have. And in addition to all that, you're beautiful, brilliant, and raised one helluva great son. From where I sit you've got nothing to be ashamed of, and a lot to be very proud of."

Suddenly Diana threw her arms around her and sobbed, "It has been so hard for so long. No one understands…what I wouldn't give to be the woman I was 30 years ago."

"Shhh," Christine said, stoking her hair, "I know. I know. It's a sad, lonely thing thinking no one understands you, isn't it? But look at me," she said, holding the other woman now by the shoulders, "there's one person who thinks you're the finest woman to ever walk the earth- that young man who just walked out the door. You know that, right? He never thinks about you as you might have been, but only as you are. And you _are_ a good woman. You _are_ a loving mother. He knows you've always tried to be the best mom you could be to him, even though it was so much more difficult for you than most. He knows you've done they very best you could. And he loves you so much."

"Is that why he never comes to see me, because he's so proud of me?"

"Hey, that isn't about you. It's about him. He feels like he's failed you because he can't help you as well as Bennington can. That's all about what he perceives _his_ shortcomings to be, not yours. I promise you that. It's hard for him to confront that within himself. But he's working through it. Give him time. He'll forgive himself someday. And when that happens, you'll hardly be able to get rid of him."

Diana smiled as she helped herself to another cookie. "I hope you're right. And I hope you two stay together for a long time. You seem like a very nice young lady."

"Well, I hope we stay together, too. As for you, well, I see now from whom your son inherited not only his long legs and good looks, but his sweet tooth, as well!"

* * *

The next morning, Spencer came back into the interview room. By now, Jack was asleep in his stroller, Spud in his carrier and Alex at the table with her head on her folded arms. Haley flipped through a magazine while both Christine and Diana wrote. "Mrs. Hotchner, it's over. Your husband asked me to tell you he's getting ready to leave and will take you both home."

"Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed, gathering up her things. "It was nice meeting you all!"

"I'll send that CD to work with Spencer for you," Christine said, waving as Alex yawned and rubbed her eyes. When she saw Spencer look at her questioningly, she shook her head slightly and went to him to say quietly, "We hit it off, but I think the stress and being out of her routine…well, you'll see. I'll tell you about it later."

"Okay. Thank you. I've been given permission to accompany her home on the jet. I'll be back in the evening. And there's something else about Elle, but we'll talk when I'm back…anyway, I'm glad you all were here. "

"I'm just glad I got to meet her. She's a lovely lady."

"Yes, she is. Anderson is waiting to take you guys home. And please don't give him a hard time- he's had a worse day than most."

"I'm too tired to even argue. Come on, Alex. Let's move," she said. "Mrs. Reid, it's been a pleasure meeting you. I hope to see you again sometime soon."

Diana looked up to smile and wave as they left. Sitting down beside her, Spencer asked, "So Mom, what did you think of Christine?"

"Oh, was that her name? She's an extraordinary young woman. Very intelligent. Hopefully someday you'll meet a young lady just like her."

"Yes ma'am. I hope so, too."

* * *

A/N

This chapter revolves around the events of the two "Fisher King" episodes, which originally aired as the season one finale and the season two premier. For the sake of this story, I have them set around mid-May, 2006, when the first part originally aired.

These episodes begin with the team members each going on vacation. Their vacations are cut short, however, when an UnSub begins contacting and sending clues to each team member either at their homes or at their vacation destinations. Reid himself is given a clue delivered to his mother's hospital, the Bennington Sanitarium in Las Vegas, where he had gone to spend his vacation. Mrs. Reid is brought to Virginia in protective custody when it is further discovered that the UnSub had specific knowledge about some team members that he could only have learned from someone who had access to the information contained in Reid's letters to his mother. The information regarding the whereabouts of each team member was obtained when the UnSub hacked Garcia's computer. This impacts this story in a few ways- first, if the UnSub knows where each team member lives, he presumably also knows Reid lives with Chris and Alex; and second, if Reid's mother may be presumed to be in danger, Chris and Alex may be, as well.

This latter part is significant- at the end, when Spencer says, "there's something else about Elle," he's referring to the fact that Elle is shot by the UnSub in her own home during this case. So it's not unreasonable to think that they same might have happened to Chris or Alex. Also, at the end when Spencer tells Chris that Anderson's "had a worse day than most," he's referring to Elle's shooting. Anderson had been responsible for giving the tired Elle a ride home, and was reprimanded later by Hotch for failing to remain with her to protect her.

A few other notes. First, regarding gun ownership. Christine has a gun. She knows how to use it, owns it legally and keeps it in a secure location. She does not allow Alex to handle one because she has no training and therefore cannot be trusted to act safely with the weapon. Please remember- guns are not toys. They are deadly weapons. If you do not know how to handle one correctly, safely and legally, you have no business handling one. Period. The remark she makes to Anderson about, "I didn't know I had to surrender my rights of citizenship" was a sarcastic one. She wasn't seriously challenging him, which is why she put it down immediately when asked to do so.

Secondly, about mental health- Christine uses humor as a method of coping with difficult, stressful situations. This does not mean she was necessarily diagnosed with a major depressive disorder or that simply telling a joke can cure anyone else in their unique situation. All it means is that, when she found herself struggling to cope with more than she could handle, she saw a therapist who helped her work through it. For other people, different kinds of treatment, including medication, may be more appropriate. If you're struggling, please know that help is available and that you're worthy of receiving it. And if you're lucky enough to be the picture of mental health, then please also be kind and compassionate towards those who are not so fortunate. Those with mental illnesses are every bit as precious, important and worthy of our respect as any other person on this planet.


	15. Chapter 15

Spencer lay in bed, dimly aware that the sunlight was already coming through the curtains. He yawned and rolled onto his back. Before he had a chance to open his eyes something landed heavily in the center of his chest. His eyes sprung open and saw Spud sitting on his chest, staring back at him. "What on earth are you…shoo! Get off me!" He shoved the unwilling cat off him and sat up to grab his glasses. As he put them on, the cat crawled back into his lap and closed his eyes. "Why do you like me so much? I don't like you! You have bad breath and you get hair everywhere!" He sighed and muttered, "And why on earth am I talking to a cat, anyway?" He shook his head and noticed the bedroom door was slightly ajar. He could hear voices down the hall and hoped that if both Christine and Alex were awake, at least one of them had thought to make coffee. He stood up, pulled a robe on over his pajamas, stepped into his slippers, and padded down the hall to Christine's office where she sat with Alex in front of her computer.

"Well, good morning, sunshine," Christine said, as he sank onto the sofa with a yawn.

"Morning," he said with a yawn. "Is there coffee?"

"No, sorry- we finished off the pot already. Need me to make you some more?" Alex asked.

"No, it's alright. I thinking I'd rather make myself espresso, anyway. Oh, for pity's sake! Why won't you leave me alone?" he exclaimed as Spud came in and jumped on sofa and tried to stick his head under Spencer's hand.

"Aw, come here, Spudster. Leave Uncle Spencer alone. He's grumpy because hasn't had any coffee yet," Alex cooed to the cat, as she scooped him up.

"Yes, leave Uncle Spencer alone, Spud," he muttered. "So what are you two working on so early on a Saturday morning, anyway?"

"Well, we have good news and we have just…news. Which would you prefer to hear first?" Christine asked, leaning back in her chair.

"Before coffee? Let's start with the good news."

"Then come here and take a look at this e-mail we received," Christine said.

He got up and walked over to stand behind her and read the screen. The e-mail was sent from the Virginia Department of Education, containing the results of the GED exam Alex had taken the day before. "Well, congratulations, Alex! I'm so proud of you! I knew you could do it!"

"Thanks," she said, hugging Spud and scratching his head. "After I failed the first time, I was scared…"

"Sweet pea, the only one in this room who had any doubt you could do it was you," Christine said with a smile. "That includes Spud."

"And your results suggest that you didn't just pass, Alex. You did exceptionally well!" Spencer added.

"Yeah, well…I couldn't have done it without you two. It's been a long time since anyone believed in me."

Spencer straightened up and asked, "So, what's the not-so-good news?" As soon as he said this, he noticed Alex look down and shift uncomfortably where she stood. He turned to Christine who was watching Alex with sudden seriousness. "What's going on?"

"It's your story to tell, Alex. Would you like to do it, or shall I?" Christine asked quietly. Alex didn't say anything, but simply gestured to Christine. "Alright. But you stop me if I misspeak or say anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay?" After Alex nodded, Christine said, "Go ahead and sit down, sweetheart." She waited for Spencer to sit, drew a deep breath and began, "This is regarding the scars you noticed last month. Some of those were caused by her mother's neglect- she knocked hot spaghetti sauce off the table all over her legs while she was drunk and burned her, but…the more recent scars, the ones all over her back? Those were caused by her ex-boyfriend."

Spencer looked to Alex who was standing with Spud in her arms, looking down. He touched her arm and had her sit down beside him.

"After he did that, they issued a warrant and the asshole skipped the state. I guess he was up in Wisconsin with family. Last spring he got pulled over in Illinois and they finally arrested him. This spring he finally went on trial. Alex testified and they convicted the bastard. Sentencing is in three weeks. We've been working on her victim impact statement and we just bought tickets to Chicago to be there."

"Alex, I…" he stopped, at a loss for words. Finally he said, "You're very brave, Alex."

"I couldn't be there at the trial," Christine said, "but Joe went with her. He said he never knew she could be so brave. But she did so good on the stand, didn't you, dear?"

"I did my best to tell the truth," she said quietly.

"And that took a lot of courage. I'm proud of you," Christine said.

After a moment, Spencer asked, "So do you know what kind of sentence the prosecution will ask for?"

"Well, his conviction carries 7-14 years. He has no priors, so the prosecutor's going to ask for 12 and hope for 8-10," Christine said.

Spencer's mouth fell open. "That's a aggravated class 2 felony conviction! Oh, Alex…" he turned to her with tears in his eyes, "what did that man do to you…?"

"I…I can only say it so many times. I'll wait until I'm in court again."

"Alex, can I tell you something?" Spencer said, taking her hand, "I don't know what he did to you, and I wish I'd known you then so I could have stopped it. But believe me when I tell you- it was not your fault. You didn't do anything to deserve that. And all those scars are nothing to be ashamed of. You don't have to hide them from Christine or from me. We know what a beautiful young lady you are. Those scars…they're nothing more than a sign that you are better and stronger and braver than the man who put them there. I've met a lot of people who've gone through such abuse. Often they become hard and mean because of it. They try to hurt others thinking it will take their own pain away. But some people- the best people- they become kinder and more caring. They help and protect others to keep them from hurting too. You're that kind of person, and I am proud of you."

Christine went over and sat on the other side of Alex to put her arms around her, and Spencer put his arms around them both. After a long, quiet moment together, Alex wiped her eyes and asked, "Anybody want breakfast? I was thinking of making waffles."

"Ooh, yes please! Bacon, too, if we have it," Christine said, as they all stood up. As Alex left the room, Christine put her arm around Spencer's waist and leaned against him. "Still want that espresso?" she asked.

"You have to ask?"

Down in the library, Spencer made himself a double-shot. "Want one?" he asked.

"No, I've had my coffee already. Say, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about- an idea I wanted to run by you."

"I'm listening," he said, as they went to go sit on the sofa.

"Well, first I talked to Elle- Alex and I visited her yesterday- and she'll be released from the hospital soon. Then Alex has both her GED and a birthday to celebrate…"

"When's her birthday?"

"May 28. So anyway, I was thinking that on Memorial Day weekend we could have a little party here, just us and your unit. Elle will probably jump at the chance to get out of the house, Alex deserves it, and I want to thank you guys for looking after us," she sighed and rolled her eyes before continuing, "and that includes the Chief Asshole in Charge."

"Really, Chris? That's what you're calling my boss now?"

"Look, I still believe that that man is way too uptight and that he pushes you too hard. But," she sighed again and said grudgingly, "maybe he's not _all_ bad. I know I was kind of a bitch when I thought Alex might be in danger, so I kind of get where he's coming from. Sort of."

"I find it interesting that you mentioned Alex being in danger. I think if Randall Garner were to hurt anyone I cared about, it would be you, because you're closer to me."

"That didn't even occur to me. I can take care of myself. It's Alex who needed protecting. What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just- you claim to be worried about having children because you think you wouldn't be a very good mother. But it seems to me you have all the right instincts already."

She groaned. "Oh good Lord- not this again! I am _not_ the mothering type, and I'm sure as hell not ready to start cranking out litters of screaming, crying, pooping, boogery ankle-biters, got it?"

"As you wish, madam. Just remember- if you ever change your mind on the matter, I'm ready to be of service."

"Say, do you smell bacon?" she asked, standing up and walking to the door. "I smell bacon. Breakfast must be ready!"

Spencer gulped down the last of his espresso and followed her out the door.

* * *

The next day, Sunday, Spencer received a call to come back to work. Before leaving he stopped by Christine's office to tell her goodbye. "Again on the weekend?" Christine complained. "Here take these," she said, handing him a small stack of envelopes. Then she pulled a CD out of her desk drawer, wrote on it with a Sharpie, and handed that to him, as well.

"What's all this?"

"Invitations to our barbeque. And give that CD to Aaron for his wife. I promised to give her one."

"Oh? Alright then. Have a good evening, dear," he said, bending down for a kiss.

"You too, sweetheart. Be safe." As he turned to leave, he felt her slap his bottom and smiled.

At the BAU, they were told to proceed directly to the jet; Hotch would meet them there and brief them en route. They were headed to Sioux Falls, where a series of child abductions that had been committed across jurisdictional boundaries had just been linked after a fourth child in as many months had been reported missing a few hours before. After the team had been briefed, they all fell into silence as they studied the case files. Hotch sat down across from Reid, who had taken a seat apart from the rest to read in silence and asked quietly, "How are Christine and Alex? I hope they weren't too upset by the need to take them into protective custody."

Reid looked up at Hotch with curiosity. It had been his understanding that there was little love lost between Christine and Hotch, whose diametrically opposed characters clearly irritated one another. But yesterday she had confessed some grudging respect for the man, and now here he was expressing interest in her welfare. "They're fine. I mean, they were both pretty rattled at the time, but Chris has a talent for burying her own fears beneath humor and bravado, so as far as Alex understood, the whole situation was a mere inconvenience in the course of their week- and a good excuse to go on a field trip to the BAU and eat cupcakes all day." He smiled. "Oh! And she asked me to give you this…" he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out the CD she'd given him. "It's for Haley. It's Chris' latest album. She said she'd promised it to her."

"Ah, thanks. Haley mentioned this. I guess she's a fan. She found some videos online of Christine performing. She's actually quite funny."

Spencer smiled again, even more surprised to hear Hotch had been watching some of her performances. "She also asked me to give these to you all," he said, passing around the invitations to the others who had been not so subtly eavesdropping on their conversation.

"What's this?" JJ asked.

"A barbeque. It'll be the Sunday before Memorial Day. It's to celebrate Elle's recovery, Alex's birthday, and to thank everyone for taking care of them during the Garner case. There's no need to RSVP because she considers attendance non-optional, and she also texted me to say that anyone with dietary restrictions should contact her; Garcia, she is aware you're a vegetarian." Just then he grabbed for his buzzing cell phone. He looked at it and then said, "Also, I'm to inform you all to wear clothing you don't mind having destroyed- I have no idea what that means- and I'm to, and I quote, 'Tell the damned Sand-lapper I'm aware of the difference between grilling and barbequing, and this is gonna be a proper fucking barbecue.'"

"Who the hell is a Sand-lapper?" Morgan asked. "Better yet, _what_ the hell is a Sand-lapper?"

"She means me," Hotch said. "It's an old nickname for South Carolinians. You told her where I was from?"

"Honestly, no," Spencer replied. "She told me figured it out after the first time she met you. She said no matter how hard you tried to hide your accent, you couldn't fool her."

"Oh?" Hotch said, raising his eyebrows. "Did she say anything else?"

"Well…she mentioned if we could ever find a way to pour a couple of mint juleps down your throat we'd probably find you sounded like a cross between Rhett Butler and Foghorn Leghorn."

Hotch rolled his eyes at the comment while the rest of the team snickered, before they all resumed their study of the case file.

* * *

On the afternoon of the barbecue, Alex was tasked with answering the door and directing everyone to the deck in the back. When the Hotchners arrived at the front door, Haley remarked, "What a remarkable home! Aaron, did you know they lived like this?"

"To be honest, no," he replied, taking Jack's little hand in his to stop him from tugging on his collar. "I had no idea she was so successful."

They rang the doorbell and were ushered in. Spencer looked in to the foyer to see who had arrived as Alex took Jack from his father's arms to coo and fuss over him. "Thank you for coming!" he called out.

"Thank you for the invitation," Haley answered, looking around. "This whole house makes me feel like I'm stepping back in time! Who is Christine's decorator?"

"Believe it or not, she's done most of it herself. She would say she has no sense of style, but she is a stickler for historic accuracy, with the obvious exceptions of the TV, stereo, and electricity, of course. But the furnishings, window treatments and wallpaper here in the parlor are accurate period reproductions, and the moldings and window have been restored to the original, though the whole home is still a work in progress," Spencer explained.

"It's a money pit, is what it is," Christine replied from behind him. "Come on out back." On the deck she'd had an island installed for entertaining, with a smoker, a large charcoal-fired grill, and a large counter for food preparation and serving under which were tableware, glassware, wine racks, a liquor cabinet, refrigerators and freezers. "If you care for a drink, help yourself. There's both adult and G-rated beverages in there. If you can't find what you'd like, just holler- I've probably got it in the house. There's a blender if you care to mix something, though I think I heard some of the others saying they were thinking of firing it up for frozen margaritas after their volleyball game," she nodded to the yard, where Anderson, Morgan and Garcia were playing against JJ and two others while Elle sat on a chair in the shade, watching. "That's my brother, Joe, and his fiancée Laurie out there. While we eat, I'm planning on flooding the yard so it's good and muddy when they resume. I figure if you can't play on a beach, at least you should have a good mud match to keep things fun, right?"

"Hotch, I'm glad you showed up," Gideon said, stepping out of the house. When Hotch turned around, he said, "You really should see the rest of the house, especially that library. It's really beautiful, Christine. And the solarium is going to be wonderful when you get a few more plants in there."

"It will, won't it?" She said, "Jason, if you're interested, there's some oriels living in that stand of elms back there. Come on, Aaron, let me show you the library." Haley had already walked off and sat down beside Alex and Jack on a blanket to watch the game.

Christine showed Hotch back in, and once inside the library, she closed the door behind them and said, "I think we got off on the wrong foot, you and I. I'll admit I bear a tiny bit of the blame for that. So let me introduce myself. Hi. My name is Chris. I tell jokes for a living. And you must be Aaron, my boyfriend's uptight boss who demands entirely too much of him. How do you do?" She extended her hand with a mischievous smile.

"Very well," he replied, taking her hand. "And how are you?"

"Well, I am concerned. It seems we both have an interest in Spencer's welfare, though for different reasons. You depend on his intellectual abilities to assist your team in successfully resolving cases. Me, I just love him, and I want to see him happy and fulfilled in his personal life. So it seems to me we are necessarily at odds in our opinions on how his time and energies are best spent."

"I can appreciate that. May I be frank with you?"

"Please."

"Okay. Then I'll first tell you this- when I first met you, I couldn't stand you. And it wasn't just the steel rod up my ass joke. When you marched in to our briefing, interrupting us with your personal business and foul language, I thought you were rude, crass and disrespectful. And I thought you were in no way good enough for Dr. Reid. But the observations you made in the few moments you spent in that room, and later on the plane, proved to be vital to the apprehension of the unsub. And as much as I disliked you personally I had to admit that you are indeed exceptionally bright and insightful, and that at least in that regard you were Reid's equal. And when we brought you and Ms. McNally in for protective custody, I was furious that you'd bullied Anderson into taking you shopping and bringing that cat with you. But then I realized something when you told me why you'd done that, and so I watched video of you online, because you're right- I do have an interest in Reid's welfare, a greater one than you give me credit for, and I want to know what's going on in his personal life, so that I better can guide him in his professional one.

"What I learned is this: humor is not just a career to you. It's a shield and defense mechanism. You down play your intelligence and achievements, which I'm guessing is in part because IQs and degrees don't impress you. You have those. But you also do it in large part because you want to fit in, you want everyone to view you as normal and relatable, probably because you were ostracized as a child because of your intelligence. You mocked me because you mock authority in general. You probably had a very strict upbringing you're still rebelling against. But you singled me out to mock, and were cordial and respectful to Agent Gideon. That's probably because when you've heard Spencer speak of us, he's told you of the things I've ordered him to do, and the things Gideon has taught him. To you, I'm the reason for his stress, but Gideon is a source of guidance to him. You used your sharp tongue and wit to get your assistant's cat into the BAU. At first I thought it was an obnoxious stunt, but that was wrong. You did it all because of your instinct to protect and nurture those you care about. Haley told me that when you were alone in that room together you were remarkably thoughtful and kind, that you questioned her closely about Jack's medical history, about his diet and vaccinations and that you lectured her on the importance of regular check-ups and mammograms. You act tough and use rough speech, but it's really just a façade, isn't it? You're actually a very sensitive and empathetic person around those whom you feel comfortable enough to reveal that more vulnerable side of your personality. But there's one thing that really is no joke to you- when you use self-deprecating humor, when you call yourself homely, plain, ugly or a freckle-faced freak, you're not actually joking about that. You truly believe such things about yourself. It's ridiculous, of course, which is part of the reason people laugh, because to any objective observer you're a very attractive young woman. But that's why you threw Reid out, isn't it? Not because you honestly believe he'd ever cheat on you, but because you can't understand why he wouldn't. The answer is obvious."

"I know. Because he loves me."

"Because he _adores_ you."

She leaned against the back of the sofa, crossed her arms and smiled. "That's quite a parlor trick you've got there, Aaron. You must be pretty good at your job."

"You're pretty good at yours, too. I listened to that CD you gave Haley- you were hilarious. Obviously I'm not alone in thinking so- this house is evidence that you've had considerable success."

"You know," Christine said with a sly smile, "there are other skills you develop as a comedian besides just how to write and tell a joke. Once I told Spencer that in some ways, I do the same thing as you people. But what takes your whole team days, weeks, even months to do to find one psychopath, I have to do in minutes to a whole room full of drunks- you know, watch their body language, gauge their response to my jokes, know which hecklers to ignore and which ones to engage- in order to adjust my material and obtain my objective, which ultimately is to get as many as possible to laugh as much as possible. Care to find out how well I play the game?"

"Of course."

"You're right when you said I had a preconceived notion about you, that you were a real slave driver at work. But the moment I saw you, I knew what a tight-ass you really were. It only took one look. You are an absolute perfectionist. Your hair was perfect. Your suit and shoes were perfect. Even your fingernails were perfect. Now, Spencer is a perfectionist because he knows he can be. He _can_ find solutions to damn near every problem put before him and so he can't help but work at it until he does. But not you. You had perfection literally beaten into you from youth onward, didn't you? If you didn't live up to your parents'- or at least your father's, probably- unrealistic standards, you caught hell for it. Even today, when I specifically told people to wear sloppy clothes, you showed up in jeans and a polo shirt that have both been ironed. I mean, who the fuck irons clothes that you're supposed to wear to relax in? But that's part of the reason you and Haley get along, isn't it? You'd never force her to iron your jeans, but you love that she's every bit as meticulous as you. It's what drives you in your job and why you're so damned good at it. But it's killing you, too, because now you've got that cute chubby little pumpkin at home and it is impossible to be the perfect unit chief and the perfect husband and the perfect father all at the same time and that is eating you from the inside out. You're not spoiled enough to be an only child, but you are the eldest, because you have an entire lifetime of being respected, in charge and obeyed under your belt, which is why it drove you nuts when I got mouthy with you. And you've got a temper, and a pretty vicious one at that, because I could tell by one look in your eyes- not to mention your carotid artery- that if I'd been a man and we'd been alone in that room, you gladly would have beaten the shit outta me. I suppose if I'd had the ability to study video on you I could come up with more, but I haven't had the luxury or inclination to do so, so that's what I got in about the first five seconds I met you. But I've since also come to realize you're so hard on your team not for the sake of saving your ass, but theirs as well. And that I can respect, though I still think you're a tight-ass. So how'd I do, chief?"

"You'd make a hell of a profiler, if you ever wanted to change jobs."

"God forbid. If I had to deal with that dark, depressing, gruesome and grisly shit all day long I'd be sucking on the business end of a pistol before the week was out. I sincerely admire those of you who do, and I think you don't paid nearly enough for doing it, but I couldn't handle it. I think I'll stick with my party all night, sleep all day work routine, thank you very much."

"There is one other thing I've been wondering about you though, Christine…"

"Call me Chris."

"Okay, Chris," he corrected. "There's something about you I can't quite understand. When you threw out Spencer, it wasn't just jealousy, and it wasn't just insecurity. There is something in you that keeps you from allowing yourself to be happy, from being able to accept happiness in your life. So tell me, because I'm dying to know- what are you running away from?"

She stared at him for a moment before uncrossing her arms and putting her hands on the sofa behind her. "When I almost 18 I was diagnosed with cancer. And all of a sudden I had to face the fact that I might die before I even had the chance to live. I had surgery, chemo, and a few months later I was told I was in remission. But remission doesn't mean cured. I was told I couldn't be considered cured until I was ten years in remission. I had my eighth anniversary eleven days ago. But every damned day of my life I wake up feeling like my head is stuck in a guillotine, that at any moment that rope holding the blade might break and my life will be over. And maybe there's a there's a crazy, fucked up part of me that thinks that if I let myself be too happy, that if I let life get too real, it'll all be snatched away from me in an instant. And if that happens…I guess I think it'll be easier dying knowing I don't have too much to lose."

"Well," Hotch said softly, seeing the tears form in her eyes even as she tried to smile, "I for one certainly hope that is not your fate. And I hope you let yourself be happy."

Just then the door opened and Alex poked her head in. "Hey boss. You said the meat would be done at 1:30. It's 1:30."

"You go tell them all to get washed up and ready to eat. I'll be right out." After Alex had left she said, "This stays between us, got it? My messed up medical history is no one's business but my own."

Hotch nodded. "Now let's go see if you actually can barbecue."

"Aw, fuck yeah! I'm like a ninja with charcoal and fire!"

After laying out the food and gathering everyone, Christine, said, "Alright, everyone, can I have your attention? Excuse me…hey, come on, guys…" Finally, she yelled in a shockingly loud voice, "ALRIGHT! SHUT UP AND LISTEN UP, PEOPLE! That's better. This shit's a lot easier with a microphone, but anyway…it's Memorial Day weekend, and while I'd normally say grace, I understand not everyone believes as I do, like my heathen, atheist boyfriend over there, so I'll simply propose a toast. Go on and raise a glass of whatever you've got, 'cause I've got something to say-

"To all our service members past and present-

"To all the brave souls who risked life and limb and all that they owned to establish this as a free nation, 'conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal,'

"To all who struggled and all who died to insure that those insure that those words meant something and that they applied to _all_ Americans regardless of the color of their skin,

"To those who served at home and to those who served abroad,

"To those who answered the call in war time and peace time, who kissed their mamas goodbye and went off to do their duty,

"To those who did great deeds and were welcomed home as heroes, and to those who came home and were spat upon simply because they were following orders, and to those who never made it home,

"To those of color who long served without equal pay but with no less honor or valor than white men,

"To the generations of women who served without any pay at all, who cooked and sewed and nursed the wounded and dying, both in their own homes and under fire on the battlefields,

"To the veterans among us who carry the scars of battle both on their bodies and within their own minds, who desperately need and deserve our respect and our help,

"And to all those who never made it home, who's mamas never had the peace of knowing the fate of their children, you are not forgotten. We toast you, we honor you, and we owe you a debt of gratitude that we can never fully repay. Cheers."

After they'd a clinked glasses and drank she added, "Okay, you jackals- dig in! Hey, now, Derek! I saw that! Quit trying to muscle your way to the front, there's plenty of food! In fact, you're banished to the end of the line! And save room for desert! Alex and I made cherry, apple and blueberry pies, but that pretty pecan one's from Haley and everyone only gets one slice, you hear me? No seconds until everyone's had a chance at it. Oh, quit bitching, Joseph! Elle brought plenty of cookies, so you're not gonna starve! Those are some awesome looking snickerdoodles by the way, doll face. Grant! I see you! For God's sake, eat something green, would you! Spencer, you'd better take it easy with those beans or you will be sleeping in the spare room tonight!"

As she was directing traffic and delivering her color commentary, Spencer came up behind her with his own plate and said, "Baby doll, aren't you going to join us?"

She turned to him with a smile and kissed him on the cheek. "Yeah. In a moment. You go save me a seat." A few minutes later she joined him at the table.

"Hey, Big Red- great food! Didn't know you could cook like this," Derek called down to her, hoisting a gnawed-on rib in the air.

"Well, Spencer doesn't stay with me only for my great beauty and sparkling wit! You know what Chris Rock says about women who can cook- 'Anybody can suck a dick, but gravy's a whole other story!' Goes for chicken and ribs, too!"

They all laughed good-naturedly and looked at Spencer, who replied, "And you, dear, are a certainly a woman of these and many other talents," making them all laugh harder.

"Goddammit, Spinster!" Joe yelled. "That's my sister you're talking about! I don't need to hear about the nasty things you do! I like you, man, so don't make come down there and knock your bitch ass out!"

"Careful, Joe! You know he's got a half dozen federal agents to back him up!" JJ retorted.

"Nah, I'm on Joe's side on this one, JJ," Morgan answered. "I've got sisters, too! Don't be a punk, Reid!"

"Hey, Chris," Haley said, as she tried to offer Jack some applesauce that he promptly spit out, "You said you were going to tell me the rest of that huffer story…"

"Oh my god, yes. So…for those who don't know, you know how in big cities you've got crack heads and meth heads and pot heads? Well, out here in Bristow, Virgnia we've got us a propane head. Swear to god. And if you don't believe me, her name is Carrie Jones, and you can Google that name and Bristow and read all about her in the local police reports. And it would be bad enough if propane was her only vice, but it is not. She is also a smoker. Yeah. So anyway, she's one of the reasons I was inspired to get a charcoal grill, because a few months back the local police sent her mugshot around to all the local business that sell propane for grills with a letter asking them not to sell to her. So naturally, as soon as that happened, we started reading in the paper about people all over town reporting the theft of the propane tanks off their grills. Of course, everyone knew who was doing it, but no one could prove it. One guy caught her messing around on his back deck. They got into a fist fight when he was trying to get her off it and turn off the valve she'd left wide open. He had to physically throw her off his deck and then she was just rolling around in his back yard throwing rocks and dirt at him until the cops showed up and hauled her off.

"But it gets better, and by better of course I mean much, much worse. About a week and a half ago I was standing on this very deck talking to my contractor, Brad, about my idea to put in a pool and a hot tub…"

"Woah. Remind me never to get in _that_ hot tub!" Elle said.

"Why?" Haley asked, "What's wrong with a hot tub?"

"Oh yeah- you missed that show! Let's just say Sparky and I do nasty, naughty, dirty, shameful things in hot tubs, mmmkay? Anyway, we were out here talking when Brad's brother-in-law pulls up the drive. He was mad enough to spit bullets and he needed someone to bitch to. Turns out, his son had a gas grill he'd started keeping in the garage at night because of this crazy woman. Unfortunately, he and his wife had gone to sleep without locking the garage. So she got in there, did her business, decided to light a cigarette afterwards and detonated the fucking garage. Now, after the initial explosion, she somehow got out of there, but there was second tank in there, which went up right as cops were responding to the scene. Luckily it was a detached garage, so the folks inside the house were safe, but the fire melted the vinyl siding on the back of their house and on their one neighbor's house besides! Police picked her up a hour later, wandering the streets at 2:00am, face burnt, hands burnt, eyebrows gone, and high out of her fucking mind. And a couple of days later, her boyfriend, Old Junkman Eddie-"

"Junkman?" Garcia asked.

"Yeah, he owns the local scrap metal yard. And he is old, like 30 years older than her with this long hillybilly beard. So anyway, Old Junkman Eddie, he bailed her out. I went down at the gas station to fill up, and when I drove through town, there she was at 10:00am in front of the liquor store waiting for it to open, because propane and smokes aren't her only vices. So while I was filling up, I saw her come down the street on her bike- because she lost her license years ago, I presume- and how do you think a woman riding a bike carries her beer? She stuck it down the back of her pants! I swear to god! And I ask you- who the hell rides their bike around holding a 40 in the crack of her ass?

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, if why I fucking _love_ small towns, because there are all sorts of wonderful weirdoes that keep these places interesting." They all laughed, then continued to eat, drink and play until well after dark.

* * *

After they'd said goodbye to the last of their guests and finished the dishes with Alex's help, Spencer and Christine sat together on the veranda, finishing the remnants of bottle of wine. "I haven't been to many parties, but that was a pretty great one, Chris," Spencer said.

"Yeah, everyone seemed to have a pretty good time. Too bad Elle couldn't join in too much, but I think she liked hanging out with the rest of y'all."

He laughed, "Oh, but they got amazingly filthy after playing volleyball in that mud pit!"

"Even better was when Alex made everyone let her hose the mud off them before going in the house to change."

"She seemed to enjoy that almost too much!"

"I can still hear Derek screaming like a little girl- 'It's cold! It's cold!'"

"You know, last November I failed my firearms qualification, so as a joke he gave me a rape whistle to keep myself safe. Man, it felt good to see him act like a sissy for a change!" They both laughed and then fell silent for a bit, enjoying the fresh air and the touch of one another's hand.

"Well sweetheart, I'm beat. I think I'll turn in now," Christine said finally.

"I'll come with you," Spencer replied with a mischievous little smile.

"Oh, I know what that look means- guess I'm not getting much sleep tonight after all, hmm?"

"I wouldn't plan on it, if I were you." As they went into the house and up the stairs, he asked, "So what were you and Hotch talking about for so long earlier?"

"Oh, you know- he was just giving me pointers on how to keep a man satisfied in the sack. Wanna know what he told me?"

"If you don't want to tell me what you really talked about, fine. Be that way. But I would like to see any new ideas you may have…" They both laughed and embraced as soon as the bedroom door shut behind them.

* * *

A/N

I made Hotch a native South Carolinian for two reasons. First, in season 1 episode 11, "Blood Hungry," Hotch reveals knowledge of prominent southern families and that his mother went to and old-school southern women's college. So the implication is that he's a southerner himself. Thomas Gibson is a native of Charleston, South Carolina, so I decided to go with that.

Sand-lapper is an old nickname for South Carolinians. I'm not sure of it's origin, but presumably it has something to do with the fact that the coastline boasts some truly spectacular beaches.

If you don't know who Rhett Butler and Foghorn Leghorn are, I weep for you. Google that up, then go on YouTube and watch some old Foghorn Leghorn videos and laugh your ass off.

I originally finished this chapter on what I later found out was Anzac Day (ask an Aussie or a Kiwi if you don't know what that is). In the US, Memorial Day is on the last Monday in May. I know, and Christine would have too, that technically Memorial Day honors not all veterans, but only those who died in war. But I don't care. I think all our service men and women are willing to lay down their lives, if necessary, and that even though our veterans may return home, they leave a piece of their heart and soul on the battlefield. So I decided to honor them all, for all their sacrifices are precious.


	16. Chapter 16

Spencer pressed his lips hard to hers, pushing Christine back against the wall of their bedroom. As she fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans, he ran his hands from her hips up under her t-shirt until his fingers found the clasp of her bra and undid it. He ran his hands around to her breasts, eliciting from her a gasp as she eased his pants drown from his hips. They separated quickly to pull off their own shirts, then Spencer stepped out of his jeans, embraced her again, turned her around and began backing her up to the bed. Suddenly she stumbled and fell back onto the bed, pulling him down onto her as they both giggled tipsily. He stood back up, pulled down his underpants as she scooted back onto the bed, then grabbed her shorts and panties, pulled them down roughly and tossed them over his shoulder. He climbed back onto the bed and kissed her neck as she squealed and wrapped her arms and legs around him.

"Sorry," he panted, "for what I said earlier…"

"Oh? What…what did you say, sweetheart? I can't remember anything you'd…uh…oh wow…anything you'd need to…um…apologize for…"

"The, um…the part about…remember when you talked about, uh…gravy and sucking dicks and I…I…I said…what did I say? Oh…yeah, that those were both among your talents…"

"Oh that? That was hilarious, baby!"

"Morgan said I was a punk…"

"No…no, I don't think so! Every man deserves to get some head for Christmas and Valentine's and…uh…for his…his birthday…why? You want some now?"

"Oh god, no. I just want…I want…this…" he groaned as he thrust into her.

"Oh _YES_ ," she screamed, jerking her knees up behind his back. "Oh, Spencer…are…are you sure? Because I…ohhh…I don't mind that at all, if you want me too…"

"I like it but…I like fucking you like this better…my sweet, sweet pretty little Christine…oh, wow," he exclaimed, as her cries rose, back arched and thighs pressed harder and harder against his body. "Are you cumming for me already, baby doll?" He sank his right hand into her hair, pulling her head gently to the side as he leaned in to press his lips to her exposed neck. He grabbed her thigh with his left hand and drove himself into her faster and faster as she struggled and squirmed beneath him until she was screamed and he felt those glorious, familiar contractions on his throbbing erection. Soon he couldn't hold himself back any longer and surrendered with a shout, burying himself into her as deep as possible.

Feeling his orgasm, she urged him on, crying out, "Yes! Yes! That's it! Give it to me, baby!" as he groaned. As his orgasm subsided, he lay in her arms, catching his breath, before rolling off to the side and smiling at her as he ran his hand up and down her side. She reached up and gently pushed his hair away from his eyes, watched it fall back, and then pushed it back again. When it fell once again, she tugged at it playfully and laughed. "I feel like, even though I saw you all day, I didn't really see you at all, since we were so busy. But this was a pretty spectacular way to say hello again. So hello! I love you, Spencer!"

"I love you, too…" he seemed on the verge of saying something more, but stopped and simply smiled.

"What is it?" she said, smiling back. "What's on your mind? What's going on in there?" she asked, and tugged at his hair some more.

"It's just…lately you only say you love me when we have sex, or when I say it first."

She drew her hand back away from him. "That's not true…"

"It is. And probably it means nothing, but part of me wonders why that is."

"Maybe it's because when we have sex is when I feel closest to you. And you should know I love you without me constantly having to say it," she said, her voice becoming harder.

"But I like hearing it- don't you? Or is this what our relationship is becoming?"

She sat up. "Are you honestly telling me that you think I'm _using_ you? That you're nothing more to me than a good screw?"

He sat up now too, and said, "Then why are you so averse to having any discussion about our future together?"

She jumped out of bed and stormed into the closet. He could hear drawers opening and hangers falling as she rummaged around, saying, "I've been analyzed to death already today, Spencer! I don't fucking need this right now, you hear me! I'm sick of it!" She reemerged in panties and a t-shirt and was pulling on her robe. She paced back and forth saying, "Goddamn if Aaron wasn't right. Or maybe I was. I don't even know right now, and maybe I am running away but I can't take it right now, okay?"

He stood up and pulled on his underpants saying, "What the hell _did_ you and Hotch talk about today? What is going on?" He tried to move to face her, but every time he did she turned away again.

"It's true! I am scared! I'm scared every minute of every hour of every day!"

"What's got you so scared, baby doll? Is it Garner? He's dead, Christine! He can't touch you! And I'd never let anything happen to you even if he wasn't!"

" _You know damn well what I'm scared of, Spencer! It's the same goddamned thing I've always been afraid of ever since we met!_ " she screamed, tears running down her cheeks.

He froze and felt the blood drain from his face. "Oh, God. The blood tests- baby doll, I didn't ask about the results because I was sure if anything was wrong you'd tell me," he said, reaching out to take her arm. "I'm so sorry, dear! But whatever it is we'll get through it together. I promise. You won't be alone! What did the doctor say?"

"The tests were fine. But it's still not the end, don't you understand? And you keep trying to ask me about our future- Spencer, _I may not have a future!_ Do ya get it now? I…," she sobbed, struggling to catch her breath, "I…don't have…a future! Oh, god! I can't breathe!" She pulled away from him, tore open the French doors at the side of the room, and grasped the wrought iron railing on the little balcony. She breathed heavily for a few moments before crossing her arms on the railing and lowering her head on to them. "God, why do have to make me think about the future? Why can't just let me live today and be happy?" she said, sobbing pitifully.

He stepped up behind her, put his arms about her waist and pressed his lips to her neck. She shrugged her one shoulder to try and move his face, saying, "Don't. You're chin's all stubbly and scratchy."

He kissed her and held her tighter. "You'll just have to accept it, baby doll. I'm not letting go. And I'm so sorry you're scared."

"You _know_ what this did to me years ago, how sick and scared and hopeless I was! You remember how depressed I was! I still carry those feelings with me every day! Why do you want to force me to think even more about them now? All these years, the only way I could deal with this fear was to just live as much as I could and laugh as much as I could and try not to take anything seriously. I told myself I never wanted a relationship, that I didn't need it, and that there were a thousand reasons why it was all wrong for me. I _had_ to convince myself of these things because it was the only way I can cope with the fact that I might _never_ have a future with anyone! And now you're here, and you're trying to force me to make decisions and face these things and I can't, Spencer! I just…can't! I told you when we first started dating that I wasn't willing to plan out our whole futures, that I just wanted to be in love with you right now. And I still feel that way. Because I can't…" she began to push him away in a struggle to get out of his embrace, "I don't have the luxury of…goddammit, Spencer! Let me go!"

"No," he said, turning her to face him and pulling her against his chest. "I'm not letting you go."

"You seem to think that if I love you, I should make all these plans," she sobbed, her forehead against his chest. "But if you love me, why can't you just be happy with me right now? Why won't you just let me be happy right now?"

"Shhhh," he whispered, stroking her head as her tears wet his bare chest, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Come on now. Lay down." He pulled the covers back from the bed and tucked her in. He sat on the bed beside her stroking her arm and said, "I never realized you were still so scared of all these things. I guess I just never thought you were scared of anything anymore."

"It's stupid and illogical and irrational, I know. But I am scared. I'm scared all the time. I must be the biggest coward you know…"

"You?" He laughed. "You stood up to a guy twice your size for using homosexual slurs in your show- a guy who then proceeded to break your arm!- because you thought it was the right thing to do. You were ready to kill a man whom we thought might be targeting our team members and who almost did kill Elle, in order to protect Alex. You even almost went to war with my boss- a man who could someday be the Director of the FBI- just to win the right bring that goofy cat into the BAU. Chris, I work some of the bravest people in the world, and I can assure you, because none of us would have had the courage to do _that_." He laughed again and stroked her cheek. "Dear, if the only thing you're afraid of is dying an untimely death, then I'd say you're a very brave woman. But look- I am sorry. I mean that. And I'll make you a promise: I will never bring up children or commitment or marriage again. When you're ready, if you're ever ready, you'll have to ask me. And since all you ask of me is to be happy along with you every day we do have together well, I think I can do that, too." He leaned down to kiss her forehead then walked to his side of the bed and got in beside her. He pulled her close to him, and lay silently with his arm around her waist and his chin on top of her head until he knew she'd fallen asleep. Slowly he drifted off to join her in sleep, his recollection of their first time spent together transforming into a vivid dream, that played in his mind like a movie.

* * *

In his dream he saw himself at 16, sitting alone in the cafeteria at MIT, ignoring the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes about him. As his left index finger traced a path down the page of his text, his right hand held a fork full of stewed tomatoes. Reading was productive, and stewed tomatoes, were…well, they were stewed tomatoes. Necessary for sustenance and lycopene and little else.

As he pushed the tomatoes into his mouth he became aware that there was a figure standing opposite him. "Hey. This seat taken?"

"No," Spencer mumbled, and, turning the page, resumed to running his finger down the lines of the book.

"So, hi, my name is Joe," the interloper said, extending his hand, "…and you are...?"

Spencer looked up at him blankly and blinked.

"Dude, don't leave me hanging," Joe said with a smile. "You've got to have a name…"

"Spencer."

Joe stood there, his hand outstretched. "Look man. It's a hand. You shake it. You won't catch cooties, I promise!"

Joe didn't look like most MIT students, at least not the ones with whom Spencer was familiar. He was, well…a bit slovenly. His Hawaiian shirt was too bold, too wrinkled, and his slacks were frayed at the cuffs. Most tellingly, he smiled. Broadly. He stood there, his hand stubbornly outstretched. Spencer took his hand, gave it the briefest of shakes, and tried to return to his text.

"You need a better shake, man."

Looking up, Spencer raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"You need a better handshake. Look, when you shake a man's hand, you connect the web between your thumb and your forefinger. Then you grasp and shake twice." Spencer stared at him silently. "You shake like a princess, Spencer."

"Yes, well, I don't generally care to shake hands," he said, quietly, and tried to return his attention to his reading and his rapidly cooling- and now, frankly, somewhat depressing- tomatoes.

Joe sat down gracelessly, rather like an overripe plum falling to the ground. "I get it," he said. "You're one of _them_."

Spencer looked up again, somewhat annoyed. "One of them?"

"Yeah, one of them," Joe said, while stuffing a forkful of pasta into his mouth. "Too smart for your own good. Oh, I know all about your sort. You look around and see things most people don't. You know how many germs the average man has on his hand. You know precisely the chances of getting sick from each likely pathogen, what the symptoms are, what the chances of serious complications are. God forbid one of them lands you in a hospital, because you know they're havens of drug-resistant bacteria! You know the chances of complications caused by a simple mistake by a doc or a nurse or even an orderly who's thumb might accidentally touch the food they give you when placing your tray in front of you. That's _if_ someone down in the kitchen hasn't already contaminated it by coughing or sneezing or even just coming into work while carrying a disease while still asymptomatic. Which is one of the reasons you eat those tomatoes. Because in addition to being really fucking boring, they're safe. Some drone in the back only needed to open a can and dump that slop into a tray on the steam table. Hopefully that can opener was cleaned and sanitized properly, that that drone was wearing gloves and a hairnet and that the steam table is kept at proper temperature. Lemme ask you- have you ever hung around there during lunch just to check and see if they're really checking food temperatures regularly with a properly calibrated and sanitized electronic thermometer?" he asked, jerking his head toward the cafeteria service line.

Spencer looked at him steadily, his lips drawn in and pressed tightly. That look, and his reddening ears, spoke volumes.

Joe laughed- loudly- which made Spencer somewhat uncomfortable. But it was a hearty and warm laugh and, in spite of himself, Spencer…kind of liked it.

"I knew it! See?" Joe pointed his fork at him, "See? You're no mystery to me! I know all about you." He chuckled to himself gleefully. "So tell me, young Dr. Reid, how're they treating you over there in the chem department, hmm?

Spencer was slightly taken aback. "How do you know so much about me?"

"It's not exactly a huge campus, now, is it? I hear there's a skinny boy wonder in the department, same first name as you…I'm no genius, but despite appearances, I'm not dumb, either. I am, in fact fully capable of determining that when one adds two plus two, then answer is generally four. You must know that answer, too- hell, it was on the entrance exam." His laughter was kind of infectious, and Spencer smiled, without even fully realizing it.

Joe leaned forward, a smirk on his face, "I grew up with you. God help me, I've spent my whole life hearing you talk in my ear."

Spencer raised an eyebrow.

"Besides, I probably know something you don't even know about yourself."

Spencer stopped, the bottle of water he'd raised to sip from paused in mid-air.

"Part of you, just a part, hates being so smart." His tone became more serious, and strangely gentle, concerned, and almost fatherly. "You wish that, even for one day, you could be as dumb and normal as the rest of us schlubs. Because what makes you exceptional, what makes you great," he tapped his temple with his index finger, "it also hamstrings you, too. It paralyzes you with facts and figures and statistics and fear so badly that you can't even find joy in your food, let alone shake a hand and make a new friend."

 _Friend_. Spencer hadn't really had a friend since he was a small child, and though he was only 16, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

"And you want so desperately to have a friend, because you're tired of being lonely, of being alone with your thoughts and fears. You want friends. And somewhere, deep down, in a place you've tried hard to bury it because you've all but given up hope of ever finding it, you still have a dream of love. Of finding that one girl the very sight of whom will make your heart skip a beat, make you forget to breathe, make you even forget your own name."

After a quiet moment, he said, "You know I'm right, Spencer. And I know this, too- there's always hope. Don't bury that. Now, come on," he said, extending his hand again. "Take it and shake it like I told you, and don't be afraid this time." Spencer smiled and obliged.

"Now eat," Joe commanded. "God knows, you look like you need it. And if you're a good boy and finish all your vegetables," he teased, "hell, I'll even buy you a piece of cake." Before Spencer could speak, he added, "and don't tell me a tomato is a goddamned fruit, as if I didn't already know!"

They laughed and finished their lunch. And Joe was as good as his word. He bought that slice of cake for him.

He left the dining hall that day feeling strangely light, and happier than he'd felt in a long, long time, in spite of the gray sky that was trying to spit freezing rain on him. And when he returned to his lab he was unaware of the eyebrows the others raised when they observed the normally silent, almost sullen, and robotic Dr. Reid with a slight smile on his lips and acting, well, almost human.

They met each day after that for lunch. They'd never spoken about doing so or made an appointment, per se. It just happened. For Spencer's part, it was the highlight of his day. Joe made him laugh more than he thought he could. He was the fourth of five children born to a neurologist and his wife, an ICU nurse. They were raised in a tiny town in rural northern Illinois, about an hour outside of Chicago. He told of his boyhood naughtiness, how he'd torment his little sister by sitting on her chest to extract her wiggly baby teeth by hand, and of the time they'd found some old fireworks. He'd lit a roman candle and chased her around the yard with it, and after her hair was singed by a fireball, he'd tackled her and sat on her back with his mother's sewing shears in hand, hoping to cut away the evidence so they wouldn't notice what he'd done.

At the dinner table that evening, though, they'd noticed.

And then there was the time he'd gotten mad at her for being a mouthy little know-it-all – "just like you," he said nodding in Spencer's direction - and caught her in the back yard, skipping rope. He tied her to the swing set with that damned rope, but soon forgot about her. Until, of course, when his mother went to the kitchen window to call them all in for dinner and saw her, still tied to the swing set, sobbing.

He'd caught hell that night, too.

Spencer noted that, in spite of all the stories he told of tormenting his little sister, there was tenderness in his voice when he spoke of her, too. He remarked on this. "It seems as though you really love her, though."

"Of course I do, she's my sister," replied, instinctively. "But," he added, "she's also my best friend." He took a sip of his coffee and sat for a moment, contemplatively, before continuing, "you know, she is the single most brilliant person I have ever met, present company included." He smiled, and chuckled softly to see Spencer raise an eyebrow at that notion. "God, how I've wished I had a mind like hers. But she was tormented constantly in school by fools who couldn't appreciate her. Perhaps you can relate. Not only was she the smartest kid in school, but the youngest, too. I'm five years older than her, but we wound up graduating together, you know? I suppose that was for the best. She needed me to protect her."

He leaned back in his chair, pondering the coffee he held in both hands. "She's her own worst enemy. Somehow she bought into everything they ever told her in school. That she's an ugly little four-eyed, freckle-faced freak. That's her handicap. She doesn't realize how amazing she is. I guess every kid wants to be a star, and I was always jealous of her growing up, because everything I wished I could be, she just naturally is. But the older I get, the more I think that my best roll in life is to just…be her brother. And love her."

"I wish I had a brother like you," Spencer said, a bit wistfully.

"Only child?"

"Yes."

"Well, you've got a friend now, anyway."

"Thanks," Spencer replied, and meant it.

"She's not ugly, by the way."

Spencer looked up.

"Christine, I mean. My sister is not ugly. Freckled, yes. And without her glasses she's as blind as a bat. But she is definitely not ugly."

* * *

He saw himself meeting her for the first time a week and a half later in that same cafeteria. And Joe was right. She wasn't ugly. She was no great beauty, either. She was simply cute. She was small and slight and pale and looked to be about only 13 or 14 years old at best, though she was in fact nearly 18- a year and a half older than him. She had shockingly red hair and large, piercing blue eyes that made him almost feel as though she could look into his own eyes and see everything inside his mind. Her cheeks were somewhat hollow, and he noticed Joe's eyes following her fork as it pushed her food around her plate without actually eating anything. She sat with her left elbow on the table and her cheek resting on her fist. He remembered thinking that if only she'd eat a little, mature a little, and learn to smile as much as Joe, she could grow up to be a very beautiful woman.

* * *

He saw himself standing at the door to the apartment she and Joe shared. He'd been invited, Joe said, for a small dinner party the following Saturday. Joe's then-girlfriend was there, as were two other couples. He felt odd sitting alone among strangers; he had no real experience in such social settings and had secretly only gone in the hope of talking with Christine, who was now nowhere in sight. In the brief time he'd known her, he'd come to enjoy her company very much. He'd found her often to be silent, sullen and brooding. But when she could be engaged in conversation, when she could be drawn out of the strange dungeon of her own private thoughts and back into the world around her, she'd light up as if a switch within her had been flipped. She would suddenly become animated, lively, playful and wickedly funny. She was brilliant, but there were a lot of brilliant people at MIT. What drew him to her was her uniquely exhilarating vivaciousness that, when she did flip that switch and let it shine, left him laughing, confused, bemused, breathless and amazed all at the same time. He'd had crushes on pretty girls before. She looked nothing like any of them. A super model she was not. But she had some spark about her that he couldn't help but be attracted to, and he was now developing feelings for his friend's little sister. This gave him a twinge of conscience to admit, for he felt as though he was betraying Joe in some way by feeling like this, but he couldn't help it, not when she was near.

He was standing by the bookshelves, looking for something with which occupy himself while the others made small talk when they heard a key turn in the door and everyone stood. When Christine came in, there was a cry of, "Happy Birthday!" from every voice but his- he'd had no idea it was her birthday. When she followed Joe into the kitchen supposedly to help bring out the food, he followed them both, stopping by the doorway when he heard her saying quietly and angrily, "You know I hate birthdays, and this is the worst one of them all!"

As they ate she picked at her lasagna and said little while the others chatted and laughed. They seemed to not even notice when she got up, took her plate to the kitchen and went to the bathroom. After she had been gone for a few minutes, he went to go check on her, to see if she was upset. Before he could knock on the door, he heard her retching. A short while later she exited the bathroom and walked down the hall without noticing him. He followed her tentatively down the hallway and onto the small balcony where she sat in an old plastic lawn chair trying to light a cigarette. He sat down beside her, staring in wonder- he'd never guessed she was a smoker. She stared straight ahead at the city lights and refused to acknowledge his presence until he spoke and said, "Those…those things could kill you, you know. And I don't mean just by cancer, I-"

"You have no idea what causes cancer," she snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Anything can cause cancer. Everything is a carcinogen. Sometimes nothing is. Sometimes you play all your cards right and cancer still jumps up and bites you in the ass. Don't fucking talk to me about cancer. You have no idea what you don't know." He sat there with his mouth hanging open as she continued, "You know, all my life I've been told to stay away from these damned things. 'They'll give you cancer,' they said." She laughed, took a drag, exhaled and stared at the cigarette. "Know how many of these things I've had in my entire life?"

"I've no idea."

She held up three fingers and said, "That includes this one. I figured now was as good a time to start as any, you know? The worst that could happen already has. So I figured I may as well see what the fuss is all about." She took another drag. "To be honest, I don't really get the attraction. But maybe I can at least look cool for a while. I've never been cool in my life. Might as well go out with a bang. What's the worst that can happen?"

"You speak as though you had a death wish…"

She crushed out her cigarette. "No. Not a wish," she said bitterly, running her hands through her hair. She froze for a moment and held her hands in front of her to stare at the clumps of hair she now held in them. "You know," she said after a moment, "all my life I've hated this damned red hair. Now all I wish is that I could keep it forever…" She brushed it off of her hands over the balcony and watched it float away before burying her face in her hands and crying.

It finally all made sense. She was sick, perhaps dying. He didn't know what to say. And he knew that anything he tried to say would be of no use, anyway. So he did the only thing he could think of to comfort her- he unbuttoned his cardigan and placed it on her shoulders. "You're shivering," was all he said. Then he put his arms tentatively around her to hold it there, hoping he could warm her a little better that way. When she leaned back against him, he held her a little closer.

"Hey, Spencer?"

"Yes?"

"What did you want to be when grow up?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not cut out to teach, so I'll go into research, I guess. Probably biomedical. I haven't given too much thought to whether I'd prefer to work in the public or private sector, though I still have years to make a decision about that, I suppose."

"No, dingus. I asked what you _did_ want to be, not what you _do_ want to be. I mean like when you were really, really little. What did you first want to be? An astronaut? A firefighter? A pro athlete? You know- what did you want to be back before all the adults told you couldn't do it and squashed your crazy little dreams right out of you?"

"Well, I think the first thing I ever dreamed of being was Superman."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, laughing at the thought. "I was maybe four when I got a pair of Superman pajamas- you know, a little blue suit with a red and gold S on the front and a matching red cape. I'd run around the house pretending that if only I could run fast enough, maybe I could fly. One day I climbed up in a tree. I think I thought that if I got high enough and jumped, maybe I _would_ fly. But my mom got so upset and scared that my dad begged me to come down because it was dangerous to get her upset like that, you know, because…" he stopped and bit his lower lip.

"Because why? Your mom wasn't…she didn't hit you or anything, did she?" Christine asked as she turned to look at him.

"No, never. My mom never hurt me. She just…" He sighed, then asked, "if I tell you something, will you promise it stays between us?"

"Sure…"

"My mom…she's…she has schizophrenia."

"Ah, well, it makes sense then that you wouldn't want to stress her out. I get that…"

He looked at her, puzzled. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"Well, of course I'm sorry- for both of you. That's a horrible, brutal, shitty disease to deal with."

"You don't…you know…think that's weird or anything?"

"No, not at all. It's unusual. It's unfortunate. But it's not like it's her fault. It's a disease. And of all the diseases to have, that's one of the worst, it seems to me."

"Yeah, but you do realize, don't you, that there is a genetic component to it, right?"

She narrowed her eyes and gave him a look of mild irritation. "Bitch, please. Do you really think I don't know that shit?"

"So, you know I could develop it, too, and that's doesn't freak you out? Not even a little bit?"

"The only thing that would freak me out is if I _didn't_ know this and then walked out the door tomorrow morning and found you having a heated discussion with a parking meter on the proper way to way to prepare Crêpe Suzette, especially if you were of the opinion that one may use orange Curaçao, while the parking meter took the side of using Grand Marnier alone, because clearly, then, I'd have to side with the meter."

"Most people seem to think the mentally ill are weird or strange or somehow at fault for their disease."

"Yeah, well, most people are also pretty fucking dumb. Besides, she must be a remarkable woman, because even in the midst of dealing with an awful, debilitating disease, she somehow still managed to raise a pretty great son. You should be proud of her." She gave Spencer a genuinely warm smile.

"Thanks. I am. Proud of her, I mean."

"Good. But I get it. A lot of people wouldn't understand. I'll never tell anyone if you don't want me too. I promise." He nodded appreciatively and then she added, "you could do it, you know."

"Do what?"

"Be Superman. You could totally do that. You _should_ do that. You should fight for truth, justice, and the American way." When he laughed, she said, "I'm serious. If anyone can be Superman, it's you."

He looked at her as though she'd lost her mind, but then changed the subject by saying, "Maybe we should go back in, now. It's pretty cold out, and I think we still have cake to eat…"

"Yeah, okay. Say," she said, as the stepped inside. "If I ask you to do something for me, would you do it? It's nothing illegal, it's just…it's important. I don't really have anyone else to ask, and I can't ask Joe."

"Okay, I guess. What is it?"

"Can you be here at 3:00 tomorrow afternoon? Joe will be out, and I want some privacy." Her voice trembled a little as she spoke. Whatever it was she wanted of him, it scared her.

"Alright…"

* * *

He woke with a start. It was dark, and she was still lying peacefully beside him. He pulled her close again and buried his face in her lovely long hair. _I'm so sorry I forgot, my sweet little baby doll,_ he thought. _And I'm so sorry I made you feel that all again…_


	17. Chapter 17

A week and a half later, the team was in the elevator after returning from a case when Morgan noticed Reid checking his phone for the third time since they'd landed. "Hey man," Morgan said, nodding to the phone, "what's up with that? Expecting a call?"

"Yeah, actually I am…" he mumbled absently. He put his phone away and said, "Christine's been back in Illinois. I was just thinking I should have heard from her by now. It's not like her not to at least text me."

When the elevator doors opened, they got out and just before they entered the doors to the bullpen area, they were stopped by Anderson who said, "Dr. Reid? She's here. You're girlfriend, I mean."

"Oh?"

"Yes sir. And she's acting a little…weird."

"Weird? Weird how? Like, high on drugs kind of weird, something like that?" JJ asked.

"No ma'am," Anderson said, "at least I don't think so. She's just…well, you'll see."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Reid said, opening the doors. "Weird is...kind of her normal."

Morgan and JJ exchanged a glance. "Sound like anyone else we know?" Morgan said quietly to her.

"I heard that," Reid said.

Inside, they heard Christine before they saw her. As they walked farther in, they found her sitting at Reid's desk in his chair saying, "Whee!" as she spun herself around. She stopped when she saw them all standing around her and jumped up. "Hey, sweet cheeks! You're ba…whoa!" she exclaimed, immediately sitting back down. "Got dizzy there all of a sudden! Guess what?"

"Well, it appears you've returned home early and decided to come here to disrespect the sanctity of my workspace, for starters," Spencer replied with a hint of irritation. She'd brought a notebook with to scribble in and had left a half-empty grape slushie and an open package of Red Vines on his desk.

"Both true," she said with a grin. "I was able to get on an earlier flight and was so happy I decided to celebrate with a sugar overload. Incidentally, I brought you a milkshake. I had young master Grant over there put it in the freezer for you."

"Really? What flavor?" Spencer asked excitedly.

"Chocolate peanut butter, but that's not the best part. They made it using- I shit you not- _caffeinated_ ice cream!"

"Whoa! Really?" Reid immediately turned and left for the break room.

Christine looked at the others and said, "Seriously, I went to this place that had caffeinated ice cream. Each four ounce scoop contains 100 milligrams of caffeine, which means that shake packs as much punch as a large Red Bull. True story. Red Vine, anyone?" she added, holding out the package of candy.

Reid returned with his shake and said, "So…I'm guessing you got some good news?"

"The bastard got 96 months!" she said gleefully, holding up her hand for Spencer to slap.

"What's this about?" Morgan asked.

"Eh, just a criminal case we've been following. Minimum sentence would have been seven years and the guy had no priors. Personally, I was hoping for more, but since castrating the guy with a rusty butter knife was out of the question because of all that 'cruel and unusual punishment' malarkey, I've decided just to be happy with what he got. And I'm not gonna lie- it brings me immense pleasure to think of the shock he's getting right now. He might have gotten some respect in the county lock-up telling everyone, 'I used to run shit down at the high school," but when his pretty little blonde self is thrown in general prison population with some _real_ bad boys, he is gonna have a very bad day. Just thinking that at this very moment some big dude with the nickname 'Thunder Dick' might be introducing him to the joys of bending over and chewing on a pillow just gets me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside." She smiled mischievously while she slurped loudly from her cup.

"That's a disturbing mental image…" JJ said.

"Yeah, but if you knew what this asshole did, you'd be on my side, Barbie," Christine retorted.

"What did he do? Was this something against you?" Morgan asked.

"Assault. And no, it wasn't against me. Doesn't mean I'm not happy he got what was coming to him, though!" she answered gleefully. "Come on now, Sparky! Get your things together and let's get outta here. I'm in the mood to let you buy me dinner!"

"Fine, just as soon as you clear your mess out of my way…" Spencer answered, gesturing for her to move out of his way as she stood to clean up her things. "Any idea where you'd like to go?"

"Well, it's gotta be somewhere casual, because clearly…" she said, pointing to herself. She was dressed in a t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. As Spencer compulsively straightened everything she'd purposely rearranged on his desk just to toy with him, Christine said, "So how about you guys? Any big plans this weekend?"

"I'll actually probably be here catching up on some paperwork," JJ answered.

Morgan, on the other hand, replied, "Not me! I've got a date and if all goes well, it'll turn into a whole weekend."

"Good for you, Derek! As for you," she said, nodding to JJ, "you fail. You need to learn a few things from this guy."

They laughed and said their goodbyes. As they left, Spencer complained, "Why on earth did you take each cap off of every one of my highlighters and then put each of them back on the wrong color marker?"

"You should have come home sooner."

"I _should_ leave your mug shot at the door with security with instructions to never allow you inside the building unescorted is what I should do," he grumbled.

"Eight years is a pretty stiff sentence for assault," Hotch said, causing them both to jump. "Particularly for an individual with no priors. So what made Ms. McNally's assault aggravated?"

Neither of them had noticed Hotch had passed by and heard their previous conversation. Spencer was astonished and looked at Christine who explained to him, "I told the boss man here a while back he had to let Alex keep Spud because she'd been through hell. That's how you figured it out, right Aaron? Anyway, to answer your question, he left her with permanent disfigurement."

Hotch sighed and said, "I'm very sorry to hear that. If I had known…"

"If you'd known all about it, you still would have been pissed about the damned cat. You gotta keep your people in line, and like I said, I've gotta protect mine. No hard feelings. And hey, at least under Illinois law, because it was her ex boyfriend who did it, they charged him with a domestic crime."

"Which means he'll have to serve the full term of his sentence without parole," Hotch said.

"Exactly. We won't be hearing from that piece of shit for many years. Wanna Red Vine?" she asked, holding out the package.

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself."

Spencer finished putting a few items into his messenger bag and the three of them headed for the door. When Hotch turned and instead headed up the stairs to his office, Christine called after him, "Dude, you've got a wife and baby at home and you're gonna spend your night _here_?"

"There's a lot of work to be done before I can enjoy my weekend," he replied.

"Hey man, a friendly word of advice- don't ever let that kid think that you stayed late because you liked your work more than you liked spending time with him, okay? Just…don't let it get to that."

"I'll take that under advisement," he replied. "Good night, you two."

After the doors closed behind them on the elevator, Spencer asked, "What _did_ you two talk about at the barbecue?"

"Nuthin' much."

"It had to be something, because that man who used to hate you for telling him he had a steel rod up his ass now actually seems to _respect_ you!"

"I told him I had the number of a proctologist who could help him out with that," she replied, taking another slurp of her slushie. As they got off the elevator she added, "You know, I still am not that man's biggest fan, but I can tell you this much- Aaron will always have your back."

* * *

The next day Spencer felt it was morning even before he opened his eyes. The early summer sun's light was pleasantly warm coming through the curtains. At first he smiled when he felt something brush his nose, but then the thought passed through his mind that Spud was again in bed with him and his eyes flew open in alarm.

He only saw Christine, who was facing him on the pillow next to his. "Good morning, sunshine," she said with a smile and lightly kissed the tip of his nose again.

He yawned, smiled, stretched and placed an arm over her. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said, nestling in closer to him. "You kinda wore me out last night, Sparky."

"Oh, I think you wore yourself out," he replied, smiling at the memory of the previous night's escapades. "You were pretty wound up when we went to bed."

"A lot of sugar, a good mood and you in the bed beside me usually has that affect on me," she giggled, crawling down and disappearing under the covers.

"Hey now," he laughed, as she kissed her way down his chest and ran her hands over his body, "what are you doing down there, madam? Whoa!" He flipped back the covers to see her smiling back up at him. "Come here, you," he said playfully, pulling her up gently by her shoulders. "What are you trying to do to me already this morning?"

She kissed the tip of his nose once more and said, "I'm trying to put you in the right mood so that when I ask you something, you'll let me have my way again."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you just ask me?"

"No, I want you to just promise to give me what I want."

"Oh no. What is it now?" he asked, apprehensively.

"We're going on vacation."

"Oh…!" he whined.

"Hey, it's not like it's a _bad_ thing!"

"No, but I feel kind of guilty. It seems like all we do is vacation! I still have to work, you know!"

"Really? All we do is vacation? That's news to me. When have we done that? And don't tell me at Christmas, because visiting my family was not a legitimate vacation. And the few times you visited me on the road, _I_ was still working! We _tried_ to vacation a month ago and that wound up with me and Alex temporarily imprisoned in the Hoover Building! I want a real vacation. Just you and me with neither of us working for more than a weekend. And I wanna do it before I go back on tour this August. I think I deserve that. I think _we_ deserve that." She pouted for a moment then smiled and snuggled closer to him. "Please, sweetheart. We never even got that one weekend at the bed and breakfast you promised me. Remember?"

"I remember," he sighed. "I suppose I can ask Hotch and see about getting some time off."

"No. Don't ask him. Just tell him you're taking time off, period."

"It's not that easy, dear! Elle is still on medical leave, which leaves us a man down, and someone else may be planning a vacation, as well. We can't all be off work at the same time!"

"That's cool. I'll just call him then. I'm sure I can make him give you the time off."

"No! Please don't! Christine, I'm warning you- I see that smile on your face! You'd better not call him. Promise me!"

"Ohhh, alright," she said, sounding genuinely disappointed at the idea of not being allowed to verbally spar with Hotch. "I will _not_ call him as long as you promise me that you _will_."

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "Alright. Fine. You win, as usual- not because I agree with you, but only because I want to stop you from picking another fight with my boss."

"Me? Pick a fight?" she said innocently. "Never. And come on- stop acting like a vacation is a terrible thing. Most people actually _like_ them, you know!"

He groaned. "I don't even really know what people actually _do_ on vacation. Even before my dad left my family didn't really take them except to occasionally visit relatives for a weekend. My mom never reacted well to being out of her routine for long. And since I was 12, all I've ever known is studying and work. Going on a vacation just sounds…incredibly boring."

"Really? You do realize you're talking to me right now, don't you? Do you really think I do 'boring' well?"

"Well, I suppose that's another concern. If I'm with you, who knows what trouble we could get into," he said, turning back towards her and smiling.

"Look, I promise I'll be gentle with you. We'll only go away for a week, we'll see a few sights, eat some good food, get some much needed rest, and have a lot of sex. Sound good?"

"Yes," he said smiling. "Especially that last part."

"Good, then it's settled," she said, giggling as he kissed her neck and ran his hand up her thigh to her hip. "Tell Aaron you need the last week in July off, and if he tries to give you grief over it, tell him to take the matter up with me. I'm pretty sure he'll let you have the time."

"Fine," he said, as she rolled onto her back and he climbed on top of her. "Where are we going?"

She wrapped her arms and legs around him and said with a laugh, "It's a surprise. Suffice it to say it'll be somewhere you've never been before."

* * *

On the third Friday in July, Reid was uncharacteristically the first in the office to begin packing up his things to head home. "Hey, Reid," Morgan called from his desk, "has she told you yet where you're going on this top-secret vacation?"

"Not at all. She's only relayed information on where we'll be staying to Garcia, and she won't tell me, either."

"And I still won't!" Garcia said and explained to Morgan, "She promised to get me tickets to see Louis C.K. if I kept my mouth shut."

"All I know is we have a flight leaving at 6:52 this evening and that I can't be late!"

"Well, have fun wherever you wind up, lover boy! Bring me back a souvenir," Morgan said.

"Thanks, and will do. Have a great week, guys," he said, ducking to dodge Morgan's hand who had reached out to tousle Reid's hair as he passed.

After Reid was out the door, Morgan turned to Garcia and said, "Alright, baby girl- out with it. What kind of crazy plans did Big Red make? "

"That's what so weird about it!" Garcia said. "They're going to Wisconsin. I mean, like, Northern Wisconsin, where no one seems to actually live! I forget the name of the town, but they're not even staying in a hotel. I have no idea what they could possibly do there."

"Huh," Morgan said, confused. "I really thought she'd have planned something a lot more fun…"

* * *

As they stood in the line at the airport security checkpoint, Christine finally handed Spencer his boarding pass. The look on his face quickly changed from enthusiastic curiosity to disappointment when he glanced at it and said, "Green Bay? You made all this fuss over a trip to _Green Bay_?"

"Nope. We're only flying as far as Green Bay, but it's not actually where we're going."

He gave her a perturbed look. "Still not telling me?"

"Nope."

"Please at least tell me we're not going camping." She'd been suggesting for months that they do just that, implying he'd been somehow deprived of a magical, coming-of-age experience as a child for never having done so. He remained of the opinion, however, that sleeping in a bag on the hard ground, eating fish he'd first have to catch and gut himself, and using a hole in the ground for a toilet were definitely _not_ experiences he'd relish as an adult.

"No, we're not going camping, although I can still teach you how to fish, if you'd like."

"I wouldn't."

"You have zero sense of adventure. Honestly, Spencer, sometimes even I don't know what I see in you."

"I get enough excitement and adventure chasing dangerous criminals by day and coming home to you at night, you maniac. I thought this vacation was supposed to be relaxing and enjoyable."

"Hey- a fishing pole in one hand plus a beer in the other adds up to fun and relaxation no matter what kind of math you use."

"That's not the way they taught it at CalTech."

"Then you should demand a refund on your tuition. You've been done a great disservice. But take heart- there will still be plenty of privacy and wide-open space for you to do some target practice. Incidentally, firearms are also more fun when paired with alcohol. Whoops. We're up!" she said, stepping forward through the metal detector and setting it off. As he passed through uneventfully, he gathered his things and laughed to himself as she argued with the screener, who was forced to use a handheld wand on her. "Oh, for God's sake! It's called an underwire bra because it has, uh, you know, like, _wires_! Yeah, right there, under my tits. Yeah, buddy- you go on now and get in there _real_ good, just like that. Better yet, why don't I just take my top off right here, hmm? That's what you're hoping for, isn't it? Yeah, I know- if you can't get a girlfriend, get the next best thing- a job with the TSA, so you can feel up women all day long in the name of 'passenger safety'."

After she finally got her things together and rejoined him, he couldn't help but remark, "I can't say as though I blame the poor guy."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, he is truly one of America's unsung heroes, keeping our skies safe from ladies' underwear."

* * *

Their flight landed in Green Bay just after 10:00pm, and after collecting their luggage and the keys to their rental car, they set off with Christine behind the wheel on a course that took them to the north and east of the city, up the eastern peninsula of the state known as Door County. Eventually, the towns they passed through grew smaller and further apart, and out his window Spencer could begin to see the moonlight reflected on the waves of Lake Michigan. Near midnight they turned off the county highway down a winding road following a sign that indicated "Rustic Road". After about a mile and a half on that rustic road they turned into a driveway and stopped before a large, charming, two-story log cabin style home with lights in the windows. "Are we here?" Spencer said as Christine put the car in park.

"Nope. Almost. Just stopping for keys. Stay here." She got out, knocked on the door of the house, and was greeted by a woman who handed something to Christine, gave her a hug, and waved to Spencer in the car. He recognized her as Christine's Aunt Melanie, whom he had met at Christmas. Christine got back in the car, pulled out of the drive, and a short while later turned right before a "Dead End" sign into another driveway. Putting the car in park once more she turned to Spencer and finally announced with a smile, " _Now_ we're here."

Through the windshield of the car he could see a small white cabin with red trim, much smaller than her aunt's. As they dragged their bags around to the front door, he could hear the waves of the lake as they lapped the shore not 20 yards away. Christine fumbled in the dark to fit an old skeleton key in the lock, opened the door, turned on the light and announced, "Ta-dah!"

Surveying their humble accommodations for the week he replied with a decidedly unenthusiastic, "Hooray."

* * *

A/N

Christine's comment about "cruel and unusual punishment" is a reference to the Eighth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, which prohibits, among other things, "cruel and unusual punishment," i.e. torture. Referring to the Constitution as "malarkey" is, of course, completely sarcastic.

Louis C.K. is an actual comedian. If you don't know of/haven't seen him, please look him up on YouTube. You won't be disappointed.

Regarding the comment about firearms being more fun with alcohol- this, too is sarcastic. Just as you should never drive after consuming alcohol, you should also never, under any circumstance, handle a gun while intoxicated. Not once, not ever.

In the US, TSA stands for Transportation Safety Administration.


	18. Chapter 18

Spencer was laying in bed the next morning panting and grinning ear to ear. He closed his eyes and breathed in the clean, pine-scented air coming through the window they'd opened in the night. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and waves were splashing on the rocks in front of the cottage. Off in the distance he could hear a fishing boat motor chugging along, bringing the night's catch into the harbor. After his breathing slowed, he sighed and turned to Christine, who was snuggled against him with her head on his shoulder, and he shook his head- she was asleep again. He nudged her gently until she murmured something and rolled over, pulling most of the covers with her. "Hey, madam. Remember- you promised me more than just sleep and sex on this vacation," he teased.

"If you wanna sightsee, go look out the window. Nice view," she mumbled.

"No," he said, leaning over her and pressing his cheek to hers, "I'm talking about food. You promised me we'd eat well, and now you've made me work up an appetite."

She groaned. "Oh…alright. Lemme think for a minute. I'll come up with something."

"Fine. I'll go make some coffee while you think about it," he said, sitting up and putting on his glasses.

"Uh, about that…" she rolled over and gave him an uncomfortable smile.

His face fell. "Please don't tell me there's no coffee."

"Oh, there's coffee…there's just no coffee maker."

"So what am I supposed to do- just chew on the grounds?"

"No, it's instant."

He rolled his eyes and groaned, grumbling to himself, "You force me to take a vacation, drag me up here to the middle of nowhere to do god-knows-what, tell me I need to make do with Folgers Crystals and then you expect me to enjoy myself? I'm not exactly feeling really relaxed right now, Christine!" He opened his suitcase, stared for a moment, and exclaimed, "And where the hell are all my clothes?"

"They're right there!"

"No, these are not _my_ clothes! These are clothes that appear to be my _size_ , but they are _not_ mine!" To keep their ultimate destination a secret from him, she had insisted upon packing his clothes herself. He pulled out a t-shirt, held it up and said, "Are you serious, Chris? _This_ is what I'm supposed to wear?" On it were two piggy banks with black masks holding knives on a third, frightened-looking piggy bank.

She laughed, and said, "It's a 'Piggy Bank Heist', get it? See how the one poor piggy pooped out coins 'cause he's so scared? Now that right there is funny, Spencer!"

"You're unbelievable," he complained, turning back to his suitcase so she couldn't see him smile. He pulled out another t-shirt bearing the legend, "Haikus are easy/But sometimes they don't make sense/Refrigerator" and put it on, saying, "I guess this one is at least kind of clever…" put on some jeans and went out of the bedroom. While he heated some water in the microwave for coffee, he looked around the cottage. It had been built in the 1940's just outside the small town of Bailey's Harbor by her grandfather and great-grandfather. It was small and rustic but very clean and cozy. Besides the microwave, there were few modern amentities- just a stove and oven, a refrigerator, and an old Philco radio that looked as though it had probably been there since the place was built. He heard the microwave ding and turned his attention back to the shelves bearing the dishes and cookware and located a small jar of instant coffee and a canister of sugar. After stirring ample amounts of both into his coffee, he tasted it, made a face, and returned to the bedroom where Christine was sitting on the bed, yawning and pulling on a shirt.

"See?" she said, nodding to his coffee. "That's not so bad, is it?"

"It's dreadful," he complained.

"You're just spoiled. I never should have gotten that espresso machine."

"Too late. I won't let you take it back now. Anyway," he said, trying to change the subject, "when can we get some breakfast?"

"As soon as you finish up your coffee," she said, pulling on some shorts and grabbing a brush. "I'm just waiting on you. The better question is, how will we get there?"

He sighed. "I know I'm probably going to regret asking this but- why don't we just take the car, dear?"

"Because we have bikes!"

"No."

"Yes, we do! They're in the little shed out back!"

"Let me clarify: no, I'm not biking two and a half miles back to town for breakfast, not when we have a car we can take."

"Says you! It's a beautiful morning, we'll get some fresh air, enjoy a little nature, work up an appetite, stuff ourselves with pancakes, and then work it off again on the way back home! Perfect!" She walked out of the room, slapping him on the bottom as she passed, adding, "Besides, it's not even that long of a ride! I'll go get the bikes."

He shook his head as he heard the old screen door slam behind her and went out of the bedroom to look at the bookshelves. They mostly contained books on regional birds and wildflowers, histories of the Great Lakes, and stacks of board games and decks of cards. There was one shelf, however, that was dedicated to an old collection of well-worn Mad Magazines dating from 1974. He smiled as he flipped through one, imagining Christine and her siblings giggling over these as children. Suddenly he heard her footsteps falling fast on the wooden deck and the screen door being flung open and slamming again behind her. He turned to see her frantically locking the door before she flew to the bedroom to peer out the window facing the back yard, saying, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," as she ran.

He followed her in to the bedroom and looked out over her shoulder. "What are we looking for?" he asked.

"Hey, where's your gun? Don't say you didn't bring it- I saw you showing your credentials at the airport."

He stood back and looked at her. "Why do you need my gun?"

"I don't need your gun. _You_ need your gun. I need you to kill something for me."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"There's a skunk out there in the shed. I need you to shoot it so I can get to the bikes."

"Are you out of your mind? I'm not killing an innocent animal just so you can get at a couple of bikes I don't even want to ride anyway!"

She turned to him with a look of alarm on her face. "But there's a skunk out there! _In the shed!_ What am I supposed to do? Lure it out somehow? How does one even do that? What does a skunk eat, anyway? I don't even fucking know!"

He couldn't stop himself from laughing at her. "Calm down for a moment and think this whole scenario through to the end. Suppose you find something the skunk will eat- which, by the way, if pretty much anything- are you really going to stand there waving food at it until it decides to wander out and eat it out of your hand? Do you see any risks at all involved with that, Chris? Think hard now, dear. Remember- it's a skunk. What could a skunk do to you that you might really regret later?"

"Shut up, smart ass. What the hell am I supposed to do then?"

He picked up the car keys off the dresser and shook them at her. "Remember these? Why don't we just drive to breakfast?"

She snatched them from his hand with a scowl, and grumbled, "Fine. You win. We'll do it the boring way."

He was still laughing as he said to her, "Me? I didn't win this argument. You were just outsmarted by a smelly little eight pound animal."

* * *

They returned late in the afternoon. After breakfast they'd gone for a drive around the peninsula, stopping occasionally at places where Christine could wander along the rocky coast to look for fossils, inspect the offerings at a produce stand, and pick up a few groceries and newspapers. The last stop they made was at a hardware store where they found an inexpensive coffee maker for Spencer to use. As they were unpacking their findings back at the cottage, Christine asked, "So, about that gun…"

He looked at her with one eyebrow raised, "I'm still not killing a skunk for you, dear."

"No, that's not what I was going to suggest," she said, "though I do find your adamant refusal to do so to be less than chivalrous…no, I was merely going to point out that up in the loft is an old target shooting kit, if you'd like to haul it out. We can use it right out front."

Spencer considered this for a moment. "Well, I can always use the practice…you're sure we won't get in trouble for unlawful discharge?"

"Very. Technically, we're in an unincorporated area, and every cottage for a half-mile is owned by some relative of my grandpa's anyway. If any of them were around, the worst they'd do is come over with their own guns and beer and want in on the action."

"What are you going to use? You're not laying your hands on my gun, you know…"

"Ah, see, I've thought of that," she said. "My Aunt Melly's got a little .22 rifle I could borrow. I heard she's even recently purchased a .30-06 we could use, if we wanted."

Spencer turned around, holding his new coffee carafe. "You don't use a .30-06 for short-range target practice! You use those to hunt bears and rhinoceroses and things like that! Why on earth would she have one?"

"Because it makes a big freaking boom and this is America and that's how we roll, that's why."

"Well, let me think about it. I'd need some more ammo if we're going to do that, but I could always use the practice."

"Yeah, something to think about for tomorrow, anyway. Or we could can go hiking, mini-golfing, take a winery tour or even catch a movie at the drive in. It's up to you."

"Really? You're going to let me choose what to do?"

"Maybe. As long as it's not too boring."

* * *

The next morning Spencer was awoken by the sensation of feeling the bed shake. Opening his eyes, he saw Christine, fully dressed, standing by the side of the bed and shaking it saying, "Wakey-wakey! Hurry! Coffee's made, so get some in you, because there's something you've gotta see!"

He sat up, rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses. "I don't suppose you'd bring me a cup?" he asked with a yawn.

"No prob!" She left and then called from the other room, "How much sugar- six spoonfuls or eight?"

"Two is fine."

She came back with his cup and said, "I put four in."

"Perfect. So what's so important? What time is it, anyway?" he asked.

"6:25 already! So we should get moving."

"You didn't answer my first question, dear. What are we doing?"

"We're gonna look at the fish!" she said gleefully.

He groaned. "I thought I made it clear I don't want to go fishing."

"We're not going to go catch 'em, just look at them! Come on- drink up and get dressed so we can get out the door! Wear some shorts."

When he emerged from the bedroom, he saw her standing by the picture window peering though binoculars. "We're watching fish from afar?" he asked, confused.

"No," she replied somewhat absently. "I'm trying to figure out what those birds are over on that island. I'd swear they were pelicans, though if they are, this would be first time I've ever seen them in the area. Never knew they nested around here…damn, there must be hundreds of them over there! Maybe we could row over later and," she turned around. "Nice legs, Sparky!"

He made a face. "I'd like to take this opportunity to file a formal complaint with the management of this operation. These shorts look like old men's underwear."

"You know, I don't disagree. But the guy at the store insisted that plaid was in style now." He sighed and reached down to pick up his shoes to put them on when she said, "No, you can't wear those! We wouldn't want to ruin them. Here, put these on." She held out a pair of dirty canvas shoes that had at one time been white.

"You can't be serious," he balked.

"Sure I am! Look, for years my family has come up here and we all go wading out in the lake. Then we leave the shoes we've ruined up here for the next folks so no one has to use their nice ones. We've got quite a collection, too. These should be your size."

"You expect me to wear someone else's filthy, used shoes to go for a walk in the lake? No. No way."

"Well, you don't wanna go barefoot! The bottom is muddy and there's crayfish and sharp rocks out there."

"I don't want to wear dirty shoes and play in the mud at all!"

"Well, where did you think the fish were going to be? They out there in the lake, Spencer!"

"I'll take your word for it," he said, sitting down.

"Oh, come _on_ ," she pouted. "Please? Just put them on, okay?" She held out the shoes to him, and when he made no move to take them, she got down and started putting them on his feet herself.

"No, stop, I'll do it, I'll do it," he said, surrendering. "Man, this is disgusting. You owe me…"

When he finished, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door and through the yard directly into the water. "Whoa! Oh my gosh! It's cold!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, but it ain't that bad. Butch up. You'll get used to it." She splashed ahead until they were about knee deep in the water. Suddenly she started moving much slower until she whispered, "Shhh…now just wait. See those shadows over there? Just give it a moment…"

Spencer watched and soon saw three large, silver fish swim within inches of their legs. "My god, they're huge! What are they?" he asked.

"Grass carp. They come to the shallows in the night for warmth. They're invasive. They're huge because they eat all the vegetation and don't have any predators in the Great Lakes. Folks don't fish for them because they taste muddy. They're just decimating the ecosystem- them, and the zebra mussels. So I should really hate them. I guess I do…but they're still fascinating creatures, no? There's nothing else that size in the lake that will let you get so close just by wading out to them…"

He watched her as she watched the fish, smiling at the enthusiastic, childlike interest she took in nature. "What's this," he asked, kicking something with the tip of his shoe.

"What, those metal rails? From an old boat launch, I presume. I've never known my folks to boat, but my grandpa used to have an old one with an outboard motor. I've seen pictures, anyway. Oh look!" she said taking hold of his arm. "See, I told you there were crayfish out here!"

"Where? I didn't see it…"

"He's right under that rock there!" She lifted her foot to overturn the rock and just as she did so, her other foot slipped from under her, causing her to fall backwards into the water and pull him down on top of her.

In a flash, Spencer found himself face first in the cold water and felt his glasses get swept off his face. He fumbled to stand, his hands feeling blindly at the rocks beneath him, which were slimy with muck. He struggled to his feet, coughing out the water he'd inhaled, disgusted at the thought of touching the filthy rocks and of having had that water with who-know-what kind of microbes in it rush into his nose and mouth, and furious that not only had he lost his glasses, but that, when she surfaced, Christine didn't even have the decency to feel sorry for him- she was laughing! "You're unbelievable!" he screamed. "How dare you! You lured me out here just to play some stupid prank on me?"

"What? No! Oh my god, sweetheart! No!" she said still laughing. "No, come on! See? I've found your glasses! They're right here!" She held them out to him and he snatched them out of her hand, turned, and marched cold, wet and indignant back to the shore, leaving her still sitting in the water. "Aw, Spencer, don't be like that!" she called after him. "It was an accident! I'm sorry!"

He was too angry to turn around and look at her as he crossed the lawn, but only raised his right hand and extended a single finger in response as he stomped into the cottage and let the screen door slam behind him. She struggled painfully to get up and stood dejectedly in the water watching him for a moment before she followed him inside.

She found him in the bedroom, angrily pulling off his clothes. "Spencer?" she said hesitantly, "I'm really sorry…"

"I _told_ you I didn't want to go out there! You _know_ how I am about getting dirty and that I don't care about the lake and all the stupid little fishies in it like you do, but I tried to humor you. This whole trip is all about humoring you! I never wanted to come here- I never even wanted to take a vacation! All I ever do is try and make _you_ happy, and you reward me by dunking me in the lake like it's some kind of joke. I'll probably wind up with amoebic dysentery because of you, which would be the perfect ending to this mistake of a trip," he fumed.

"You're not going to get amoebic dysentery," she sighed, defeated, and slowly started to pull off her own wet clothes.

"And you almost made me lose my glasses!"

"Yes, but the key word is 'almost'. I did find them again for you, you know," she was on the verge of tears at the thought of having ruined his vacation by her clumsiness.

"Yes, but what if you hadn't?" he said, too angry to let the issue go. "That was an expensive pair of glasses and if I-" he turned to look at her and stopped mid-sentence. "Chris, what did you do to your back?" he asked, staring at the angry red mark he saw.

"I hit it a rock when you landed on me."

"Baby, I…I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"Yeah, whatever. It was an accident, right?"

"Yes…yes of course," he said, sitting down on the bed beside her as she pulled a dry t-shirt on. "Hey...I'm sorry- both for that and for venting my frustrations on you. That wasn't fair."

"Yeah…but I'll bet you didn't holler at Lila like that when you fell in the water with her…"

Spencer's mouth fell open. He hadn't even thought about that in months. "Now look, Christine, let's be clear about something…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You're here with me and I should be happy about that. And I am."

"That's not what I was going to say. Look at me," he insisted. "I willingly followed you to the middle of nowhere. I wore clothes I don't like, put on used, dirty shoes and followed you into a cold lake to look at fish I'm not even interested in. Now, to say I was out of my comfort zone is a tremendous understatement. But I did it because I love you and I love doing things with you. That other woman, she had to put on a bikini and drag me into a clean, heated pool. But I wouldn't have knowingly followed her anywhere. Just now, I was mostly upset because I my pride was hurt, and because...well, you know me. I get freaked out by dirt and smile and water. I shouldn't have taken that out on you. But you have got to stop comparing yourself to other women, because as far as I'm concerned there is no one else on earth who could talk me into the things you talk me into."

She laid her head on his shoulder and said sadly, "I just really like this place. I thought if you saw it like I see it, maybe you'd enjoy it, too. Maybe we should have gone somewhere more your style, like Atlantic City of something."

He smiled and put his arm around her. "No…then we'd just spend all day every day inside. I used to like exploring nature. I'm just not used to lakes and…how dirty they can be. But I'm glad we came. It's a chance to see a part of the country I've never experienced. Now, I'll make you a deal," he said, kissing her on the forehead, "let's both go shower and get cleaned up and I'll take you out for breakfast anywhere you want to go. Sound good?"

She sat up and smiled. "Anywhere?"

Suddenly wary of her next idea, he breathed deeply and said, "Yes. Anywhere. Lady's choice."

"Yay! I wanna go to the place with the goats on the roof!"

He made a face. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"Not at all! There's a Swedish restaurant over in Sister Bay. They grow sod on the roof and in the summer they put goats up there to eat the grass. Don't look at me like that- it's actually a really excellent restaurant. You'll love it."

"Well, okay then. Let's get cleaned up and go to the goat restaurant."

"You'll love it! And afterwards we can drive down to Fish Creek for their Cherry Harvest Festival. There's going to be a parade and everything!"

* * *

They had to wait nearly an hour to get a table , but Spencer did admit their breakfast was delicious. After the parade in Fish Creek, they wandered about the street fair until Christine became fixated on getting some ice cream. Spencer thought they should have lunch first, but she was insistent. "This is my vacation too, dammit! And if I wanna eat ice cream for lunch, then by God, that's what I'm gonna do!"

He was laughing at her silliness and sipping on a cup of coffee whilst she chattered on and on about ice cream when something caught his eye. It took her a few moments to realize he'd stopped answering her or even trying to walk along side her. She turned and stared at him as he stood absolutely still, staring off into the distance. "Spencer? Sweetheart? Baby, what's up with you? Are you okay?" When he remained silent, she said more sharply, "Spencer!"

His eyes never moved, but he reached out, dropped his coffee in a nearby trash can and asked in a low voice, "Do you have your phone on you?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "What's…"

"Call 911."

She felt a wave of panic starting to rise in her, but she fought it, saying as calmly and quietly as possible, "What should I tell them?"

"There's a child abduction in progress."

"What?! I-"

Suddenly, Spencer took off running, but not in the direction he'd been looking. Christine called 911 frantically. "Hello? I'm calling to report a child abduction…no, not my child…no, I didn't witness it! No, listen to me! My boyfriend is an FBI agent! We're on vacation and he told me…" She continued to relay information to the dispatcher as she watched Spencer heading towards a nearby parking lot. Soon she saw the person he'd been watching- a man with a child in his arms, walking briskly towards a minivan, the same one towards which Spencer was running. When the man opened the side door, Spencer approached him. She couldn't hear him, but assumed he identified himself, because the man turned towards him in alarm while placing the child in the van. As Spencer reached for his credentials, the man swung at him, hitting Spencer on his left jaw and sending him sprawling on the ground. In a flash, Spencer was on his feet again, grabbing the man's wrist, spinning him around and pinning him face first against the vehicle with his arm behind his back. Seconds later, a couple of uniformed county sheriff's police ran up, looked at Spencer's credentials and took over for him, putting the suspect into handcuffs. Christine hung up the phone and began running over to the scene as Spencer reached in to the vehicle and pulled out the terrified child.

A squad car with two more officers pulled up to the scene. They got out of the car and one of them grabbed Christine's arm to hold her back. "Ma'am, are you this child's mother?"

"What? No. I'm…he's…he's my boyfriend. No, not him- the agent! I'm the one who called!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the officer said, "then you'll need to stand back. But maybe you can answer a few questions for us."

"I…I…no, I can't!" she said, running her hands through her hair. "I have no idea what just happened!"

"Do you know where this child's parents are?"

"Um, no…I don't know…somewhere over there, I think," Christine said, pointing. "That's where Spencer was looking when he told me to call…"

After a few more questions that Christine was largely unable to answer, she saw the parents come running to find their child. After they were reunited, Spencer walked over to her. "I'm sorry, baby doll, but it's going to be a little while before I can leave. They'll need to take a statement from me."

"What the hell just happened?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"I was right. He was trying to take that little boy. But we've got him in custody now. As I said, I'm sorry, but…"

"No. Don't be. At all. I get it." She looked him over and gingerly touched his face. "Wow. He must've had a helluva right…please let someone take a look at that. And your arm, too," she added nodding to where he'd fallen and scraped it.

"Yeah, sure, of course."

"Yeah…" she said quietly. "You get that taken care of, then we'll do whatever you want."

He smiled. "I think I want an ice cream."

She smiled back. "Yeah. You've earned it," she replied, and he turned and headed back to speak with the police officers.

* * *

It was hours before they were able to leave and head back to the cottage. After driving in silence for a moment, Christine asked, "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course you can," Spencer replied.

"You know, in all the time we've been dating, I've never really known what you did. I mean, I've known in theory, but I've never _witnessed_ it. You, you've seen me perform many times. But I've never really known exactly what it is you do. And I have to confess, I didn't really know why it was such a big deal to you. Of course, I know it's important to catch criminals, I mean, who doesn't know that? But it occurred to me today that all this time I've sort of been thinking that on some level you basically just went out with your buddies and played cops and robbers all day long."

Spencer laughed out loud. "Oh, gee Chris, thanks!"

"Well, I just never saw what the big deal was, and why they needed someone as brilliant and talented as you to help them do that job. But today…when you took off running, I had _no idea_ what you were doing. I couldn't see it until it was all over! Hell, even those parents- they didn't even know their kid was missing at first, did they?"

"No, they didn't. That guy could easily have been on the road before they even knew that boy was gone."

"Yeah, and he would have been, if you hadn't been there. But you were there. You saved that child's life. You kept those poor people's hearts from breaking. And it was…something that you were so uniquely adept at doing. No one else could have done that today, Spencer. No one. I know I sure as hell couldn't have. I never would have noticed what was going on."

"Oh, well," he said, "I know of a few people I work with that could have done that..."

"Yeah, a few. Maybe. But you actually _did_ it." She reached out, took his hand as she drove and squeezed it. "I'm sorry for all the shit I give you about working too much. And I'm really sorry for not respecting and appreciating both how difficult and how important it is. It's too bad that little boy had to go through that today, but in a way I'm glad I got to see it. You really are a superhero, Spencer."

He chuckled. "I don't know if I'd go _that_ far, but thanks, Chris. I appreciate your saying that."

"You know what else your job makes you?" she asked as she pulled into the driveway of their cottage and turned off the engine.

"What's that?" he asked as he got out of the car and followed her to the door.

"Incredibly sexy."

He raised an eyebrow and put his arms around her. "Oh yeah?"

"Most definitely," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a long, deep kiss. "Come on inside, and I'll show you just how sexy I think you are!"

* * *

A/N

Always be kind to wildlife, even skunks.

Guns and alcohol do _not_ mix.

There really is a small island in Bailey's Harbor where a large flock of pelicans have begun nesting in recent years. They're large, loud and pretty spectacular!

There is a restaurant in Sister Bay with live goats on the roof (in good weather). It's called Al Johnson's Swedish Restaurant, and it's excellent. If you go, get their Swedish pancakes with lingonberries.


	19. Chapter 19

Spencer yawned. He lay with his eyes closed for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of the bed and the stillness of the early morning. Soon, however, his desire for coffee got the best of him. He put on his glasses and slipped out of bed. The cool air was enough of a shock to almost make him curse aloud, but he bit his tongue for fear of waking Christine and instead quickly shut the window and put on his pajamas and robe before going out to the kitchen. While the coffee brewed, he stared out the front window at the lake. He'd never been particularly fond of waterfronts- they'd always struck him as visually boring and menacingly pestilent places. But after a week there he'd come to appreciate it for the untamed serenity of its nature, for the stillness in its wildness.

There were other things that had surprised him that week. The first was Christine. He was used to being surprised by her ridiculousness. But after he'd apprehended the child abductor he knew that he'd be called upon to help interview the suspect and that he'd want to be present at his arraignment. He fully anticipated that Christine would pout and complain as she had in the past when his work had interfered with his personal time. He braced himself for her anger that even on vacation he'd still found a way to work. Thus he was surprised when she was supportive, even encouraging, when he went about these things, and he wondered at her change of heart. She was even happy to go with him, if only so she could sweet-talk the sheriff's office into giving her their WiFi password so she could check her e-mail.

The other surprise came to him on Tuesday evening, when they went out for dinner. They had ducked into a pub in Bailey's Harbor to grab a couple of burgers when they noticed a few patrons at the bar looking over their shoulders at them and talking. That wasn't surprising. While Christine wasn't terribly well-known, she did have a loyal fan base and was easily recognized for her striking appearance, especially in DC. Therefore, he assumed when a couple of men got up and approached their table, it was to speak with her and take pictures or get autographs. The surprise was that they weren't there to speak with her at all. They addressed him, and asked him if he was "the FBI guy that caught that pervert over to Sister Bay." His mouth fell open and he glanced quickly at Christine, who merely smiled and sipped her iced tea. When he answered that he was, they turned and announced it to the whole room, telling the bartender that anything he and Christine wanted to drink was on them. When they later asked to pay for their food, they were told another patron had already picked up the tab. After they left and were getting into their car, Spencer said to Christine, "I'm not entirely sure what to make of what just happened."

"How so?"

"Well," he said, "I'm used to people recognizing you in public because you're a public figure. I was just doing my job- the same job I do every day- and I've never once had complete strangers act like that towards me afterwards, as if I had done something extraordinary just for them."

Christine chuckled. "I think the first thing you have to remember is that you weren't just doing your job. You were a private citizen on vacation when you saved that boy. Also, that boy was local, not a fellow tourist. There's a lot of tourism around here, but the local population is actually very small. Small town people talk. They talk a lot. And while you may be used to seeing predators like that every day, they are not. It must have scared the hell out of them knowing that there was someone like that in their midst, and knowing that, had you not just happened to be there, that boy wouldn't be safe at home with his parents tonight. You're a hero to them, and true heroes are a rare thing to meet in the flesh."

"Maybe. I don't even truly understand how they recognized me."

"Oh, please. Everyone there saw the tall handsome man who took a pretty good shot to the jaw from the perv. Word got around. I'm sure those cops, who knew your name and where you were staying, talked all about it. You don't need to be a genius to put together those puzzle pieces and come up with a picture or you."

"Let me ask you something. Does it ever make you uncomfortable when you get attention like that in public?"

"Sort of. At least it used to. But you need to remember, Spencer, that's their way. In small communities, things that touch one family touch everyone. You saved that kid's life, and they're all grateful for that. So you just need to remember that when they try to talk to you, thank you, or give you some gift, it's cathartic to them. They really want to show their appreciation to the man who did something truly wonderful for them. So just sit back and accept it all graciously. That's not greed or anything like that. It's a kindness, in a way, to allow them to express their joy and relief for the safety of that child. It makes them happy to do it. So let them have their happiness, not for what you do or don't get out of it, but for what it gives them to be able to express that."

"Perhaps you're right," he said, as they pulled into the driveway and went into the cottage. "It just feels really strange. I almost felt like I was taking advantage of them for accepting their generosity."

"Don't. Just thank them and smile. Remember," she said, putting her arms around him and smiling, "it's not every day people get to meet a superhero. And me, I get to sleep with one. I'm not gonna lie- it's a helluva turn on."

He smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You think so?"

"Absolutely. Come on, Sparky. Let's see how you use those superpowers in bed!"

He was smiling at the memory of that night when he heard the coffee maker finish. He poured himself a cup and walked back to the bedroom and stood looking at her for a few moments. She looked so cute curled up in bed, with the covers pulled up to her nose and her disheveled hair spread on the pillow like a fluffy red cloud. She murmured and moved a little then said, without opening her eyes, "Do I smell coffee?"

"Yes."

"Can you get me some coffee?"

"Absolutely."

He returned after a moment to see she had neither moved again nor opened her eyes. When he set the cup down for her, she blindly reached one arm out to grope around the nightstand. He smiled and handed her her glasses, which she fumbled to put on before she finally opened her eyes. She sat up with her coffee and patted the bed beside her. When he sat, she laid her head on his shoulder with a yawn and asked, "So, be honest- did you enjoy your vacation, even a little?"

He kissed her head an said, "Of course I did, baby doll. We had a lot of fun."

She looked at him smiling at her and laughed, "I mean besides the sex. We both have fun doing _that_. But was the rest of it okay?"

"Yeah, sure it was. Truthfully, I really didn't think I would enjoy any vacation, especially one up here. And when we fell in the lake, I was convinced I wouldn't enjoy it. But, I didn't get amoebic dysentery," he said with a chuckle, "and the rest of it turned out pretty great."

"Because you got to work after all?" she teased.

"No, you brat," he said with a smile, "because it really was relaxing, even if you did cheat at mini golf."

"I did not!"

"You did. You know it and I know it. And you were pretty vicious on the go kart track, as well."

"It's not my fault I'm a better driver than you…"

"Oh sure, maybe you are you're when driving a tiny little car built for children!"

"Hey, I did not make you spin out and hit the wall!"

"You totally cut me off in that turn- that's why I lost control!"

"You're just a sore loser," she said, sticking out her tongue.

"Well, I demand a rematch next summer!"

"Really?" she said. "You'd come back?"

"Sure. You can make anything fun. But there's one thing we should do when we get home…"

"What's that?"

"We really need to rewatch _Superman Returns_. You knew I wanted to see that…"

"Hey. It was a drive in theater. You're _supposed_ to make out at a drive in. Especially when you're there with a real-life Superman."

"You're ridiculous."

"Yes I am. But it doesn't mean I'm not right!"

He leaned over and kissed her. "I love you, you crazy woman. You know that right?"

"Mmmhmm. I love you, too! And I'm happy you're happy. You deserve to relax and just be happy every now and then."

He took the cup from her hands and set it aside. "I'm always happiest just being with you," he said, kissing her again and laying her back down on the bed.

He took off his robe and climbed under the covers with her where she was still naked from the previous evening's escapades. She slipped her hand down his pajama bottoms and giggled, "Oh, and you _are_ happy this morning, aren't you, Sparky?"

He nodded and kissed her again as they both pulled his bottoms down and proceeded to make one another _very_ happy.

* * *

On Monday morning, he got on the elevator at work when he heard a voice calling to him to hold to door. It was Morgan, who was just walking in with JJ and Garcia close behind. As they rode to their floor, he asked, "So, kid- anything interesting happen while you were on vacation?"

"Oh, not much," Spencer answered. "Got a lot of rest, fresh air, sunshine, that sort of thing."

The three others looked at one another. "Yeah, sure you did," Morgan said. "Anything else happen? Anything…exciting?"

Spencer looked at them as they each eyed him questioningly. "No, not really. We just spent some time in a quiet little town in Wisconsin, is all. It's not exactly the kind of place exciting things happen. Why are you guys looking at me like that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe we're just not entirely buying your story," JJ said.

"But it's true. We just stayed in a little cottage in a town called-"

"Bailey's Harbor," Garcia finished, as they got off the elevator. "But you've got some explaining to do, Boy Wonder!"

"Explaining? Explaining about…" he stopped and stared at his desk. "What's all that?" he asked, pointing to the half dozen or so boxes on his desk.

"That's what we were hoping you could tell us," Morgan said.

"They started arriving Wednesday, all addressed to you in care of the FBI," JJ said.

"Yes, and they were all sent from towns in Wisconsin," Garcia added. "So what's the deal? What's in them?"

Spencer sat down at his desk and picked one up. "I have no idea," he said.

"Well…open it! Open it!" Garcia urged, handing him a letter opener.

Spencer cut open the box and said, "It's…jam. Homemade jam."

"What?" JJ said, taking the jar to look at it. "Why on earth would someone send this?"

"It probably has something to do with the calls I received last week from the Door County Sherriff's Police," Hotch said from behind them. "I just got another call this morning. The DNA tests came back on that suspect you apprehended, Reid. He's linked to a series of murders in Minnesota and northern Michigan. The RCMP have also requested the results to see if they can close some of their unsolved cases in western Ontario."

"What?" Morgan said. "You were on some kind of assignment, Reid?"

"Not at all," Hotch said. "In fact, this suspect was never thought to be operating as far south as Wisconsin. Reid simply happened to notice a man acting suspiciously in a crowd near children and stopped him just after he tried to take a small boy. You know, I'm always proud of the way my agents perform while on the job, but I'm even prouder when I learn of how you behave while away from the BAU. Well done, Dr. Reid."

After Hotch walked away, the three turned their attention back to Reid. "So all of this is…what, then?" Morgan asked.

"Just people's way of saying thanks, it seems," Spencer replied, looking at a note that came with the jam.

"Huh. I thought it was southerners who were supposed to know all about hospitality," JJ said.

"Well, I guess Cheddar Heads are pretty generous, too," Spencer replied.

"Ooh, open this one!" Garcia said, holding out another box for him to open. It contained cookies.

They had made their way through a few of the other boxes when Hotch came out of his office and called to them, "I need everyone in the conference room. We have a case."

As they gathered their things- and while Garcia walked off with the tin of cookies in her hands- Spencer said, "You know, I did get you guys souvenirs, but I left them at home. It was a little too burdensome to bring them all into the office."

"Aw, lemme guess- we all got our very own chunks of cheese?" Morgan teased.

"Actually, we went on a winery tour, and I didn't think it was appropriate to bring alcohol here," Spencer said.

"Now you're talking! So when are we gonna get this?" Morgan asked.

"Maybe we'll all have to come by for another barbecue," JJ said hopefully.

Garcia turned around. "Barbecue? Did someone say barbecue? If we're doing it at Chris' place, I'm all in!"

"Hey, I can't promise that. Especially now- Christine's preparing to leave for another tour soon, so she's going to be pretty busy," Spencer said.

"Too bad," Morgan said. "That was a lot of fun. Especially when the ladies turned the volleyball game into a mud wrestling match- hey!" he exclaimed when JJ smacked him on the arm with a file.

"Well, the rest of us liked it best when Alex made you scream like a little girl when she turned the hose on you!" Spencer answered with a laugh.

* * *

Their case took them to Columbia, Missouri, to investigate the disappearance of a Mizzou student which was likely connected to the recent discovery of the bodies of two other women- a graduate student and a young professor. After the rest of the team retired to their rooms for the evening, Reid and Morgan decided to go to a diner across from their hotel and grab a bite to eat. As they ate, Morgan asked, "So of all the places you could have gone on vacation, why did she drag you to Wisconsin?"

"The short answer is that it was familiar to her. Her family owns a cottage there, she's gone there all her life, and she knows he way around the area."

"And the long answer?"

Spencer sighed. "Well, I know she's always associated that place with peace and serenity. And I know she feels I need more of that in my life, so she wanted me to experience it. I think she also felt it was a good way to get me as far away from crime and danger as possible, to make me put aside my job for a while."

"That didn't work out too well, did it?"

"No it didn't. But the funny thing is," Spencer said, "when that incident occurred, I thought she'd be angry with me or something, because I had violated some unspoken agreement not to work while we were away."

"Well, what did she expect you to do in that situation- nothing?"

"No, but the strange part is, when I did that, she was genuinely impressed. She told me she had a new appreciation for what I do, now that she had seen it with her own eyes."

Morgan thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess I get that. I mean, we live this job every day. We know what it's about. All anyone else knows is what they hear on the news or see on some dumb TV cop show that usually gets it all wrong, anyway."

"Yes. And I have to say, it felt really good hearing her say that. I mean, I see her work all the time, both at home and when she performs. So I can respect how hard she works and what a unique gift she has. And now, well…I finally feel like I'm getting some of that respect back. She was…very impressed," he said with a sly smile.

"Aw, you used that as an excuse to get yourself some pretty little red-headed loving, didn't you? My man!"

"Hey, she was the one who wanted it. I was just very happy to oblige," Spencer said.

"I'm sure. Always the gentleman, aren't you? Just keeping your lady happy, right?" Morgan teased.

"I suppose if I was a true gentleman I wouldn't be talking about that," he chuckled. "But seriously, I think her other reason for wanting to go there was to get me out of my comfort zone and force me to try a few things I really didn't like."

"Really? Who doesn't like sitting by the lake during the day and getting all the hanky-panky you could want at night?"

"Me, for one," Spencer said, then added, "I mean the lake part. Everyone likes the other part. But I know she knows I'm not a fan of waterfronts, and that I don't like being too far from work- half the time I couldn't even get a cell signal up there. But I did come to realize I can be happy away from work and that I can have a life outside of work. I love what I do, but it can also be good to leave it behind once in a while, too." He thought for a moment and said, "and I suppose lakes aren't all bad. There are too many insects, sometime it smells like rotting fish and seaweed, and the thought of all the diseases one can contract from contact with seagull feces is alarming, but she's the first person I've met who's ever really been able to get me out of those thoughts for a little while. And when that happens, it's a very liberating feeling. Sometimes I feel like she's determined to drive me crazy with some of the ridiculous things she does, but it's…it's very good."

"Can I be totally straight with you, kid?" Morgan asked. "I don't know if you fully realize the change you have gone through since you two got together, but it's huge. When I first met you, you we're like this…I don't know…like some kind of machine or alien or a computer with long legs and really great cheekbones. But now? More and more, you're becoming human. You're warmer, you're funnier, you're more confident. Most of all, you seem happier. And as your friend, I've gotta say, that's a really great thing to see, and I am so happy for you. She may drive you kinda crazy, but I'm telling you- she's doing it in the best possible way."

Spencer sat for a moment and said in a more serious tone, "There's one thing I know has changed, but I'm not sure it's for the best."

"What's that?"

"Remember the Blue Ridge Strangler? That was my first case in the field. He killed attractive young women. And…and I can't say I felt nothing. I felt terrible for the victims, for their suffering, for their families. But today- you remember the picture of that grad student?"

Morgan put down his burger and leaned back. "Yeah," he said knowingly, "she was a red-head."

"Yes, she was. In the past, I could look at those women and it…it just didn't hit me the same way. I would feel bad, but they were just strangers, and I was just doing my job. Now, when I see young women like that, who have been raped, and tortured and murdered…to me, they all look like Christine. And when I saw that red-head," he sighed and shook his head, "I…I can't describe it. It terrified me. It infuriated me. If we hadn't been on the jet when I saw that picture, I would have had to leave the room."

"Hey kid," Morgan said gently, "I know. When I see victims, I see my sisters. I see my momma. When I was a kid, I did see my dad. It's hard, but it doesn't have to break you. Actually, if you let it, it can make you better at your job. When we see victims as they are, as people who loved and had people who loved them, it can drive us to work harder, be smarter, and to never quit. It can help us save lives."

"I guess you're right. It's just…it makes it so much more difficult to bear emotionally."

"Imagine how Hotch feels. Imagine being a dad and seeing kids get hurt. God, I can't imagine what he must feel. Gideon, too. He's also a father. Maybe that's part of what makes them so great at what they do, not just that they can understand the criminals, but that they can also empathize with the victims and want to do their damnedest to save them and help them get justice. It's a _good thing_ , Reid. It's good to have people to love, who give you a reason to do this job." He fell silent for a moment, looking into the other man's eyes, then said, "Can I tell you something else?"

"Yeah, of course."

"You know, it _is_ too much to handle. None of us can do this job alone. But that's why you have us. Any time you need to talk, to get something off your chest, or just to work something through in your mind, we are here for you. _I'm_ here for you, kid. Remember that. I'm not just your coworker; I am your friend. I love you, too. So whatever you need from me, whenever you need it, just talk to me, okay? But whatever you do, don't try and do this all on your own."

Spencer smiled a little and nodded. "Thanks, man."

"I mean it. Anything, anytime. I'm here for you. We all are."

* * *

Four days later they were on the jet heading home. Spencer sat dozing, his cheek resting on his hand, when Morgan slid into the seat across from him and said, "Hey! Pretty Boy. Wake up!"

"Huh?" Spencer said, blinking as he straightened up in his seat. "What's up?"

"I was wondering- or rather, we were wondering- when we could stop by and pick up those, you know, souvenirs?"

Reid yawned and looked skeptically from him to JJ, who also sat smiling nearby. "You two just want to party at my girlfriend's place, don't you?"

"No, that's not it," JJ said. "Garcia wants in on it, too."

"Well, let's see what she has planned," Spencer said, pulling his cell phone out. He dialed, put it on speaker, and laid it on the table in front of him.

After a few rings they heard, "Hey, sweet cheeks! What's up?"

"Oh, I was just calling to let you know I'm on my way home. Say- have you decided what to have for dinner tonight?"

"I was planning on roast chicken and cherry pie."

"Ooh! I call dibs on the drumsticks!" Spencer said.

"Oh no you don't! You know how it works- I get one, you get the other, and Alex gets the wings!"

In the background they heard Alex complain, "Aww! Why do I always get stuck with the wings? I like legs, too!"

"Hey, sweet pea, I'll make you a deal- you can arm wrestle Spencer for one of his. Don't look at me like that! You've seen him- he's just skin and bones. I think you can take him!"

Spencer made a face. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, dear."

"No problem."

"Anyway," he continued, "what would you say if I were to bring home a few guests tonight?"

"I'd say I might need to make a few more chickens and pies. How many people are we talking?"

Spencer turned to the others. Hotch and Gideon shook their heads while Morgan and JJ smiled. "Just Morgan, JJ and Garcia."

"So…one more chicken, no more pies and a few vegetarian sides. Okay. Sound's doable- Jesus fucking Christ, Joseph! Really dude? No, don't give me that! You know damn well you just crop-dusted me! Oh my god! See? See that! Even Alex can smell it over there! What the hell did you eat, man? Ah! Your farts are so vile, I'd swear you took a shit, ate that, and now you're farting that out now! Goddamn! Sorry, Spencer, but my brother, the Disgustomatic 9000 over here, just farted and I- no, Alex! Don't light a candle! The open flame will just ignite the fumes and blow out the windows! Just get a can of Febreeze and hose the room down. Sorry, sweetheart. Give me a minute. I've gotta get outside. I'm so disgusted right now I can hardly function…" There was a pause during which they heard Christine opening and shutting doors and muttering angrily to herself.

"Who'd have thought that of all of us, Reid would be the one with the most colorful home life?" Morgan whispered with a laugh.

Spencer rolled his eyes and whispered back, "You have no idea."

Eventually Christine said, "I'm back. You still there?"

"Yep. And by the way, you're on speaker so the whole team just caught that…"

"They should consider themselves lucky they didn't catch a whiff of my brother's gaseous emissions. But fear not, good people! He is leaving soon to once again become Laurie's problem, the poor girl. So when do you think you'll be home?"

"We should be there by 7:00."

"See you then!"

* * *

As they chatted over dinner that evening, JJ said, "So Christine, I hear you're leaving again on tour soon?"

"Yeah," she said. "There have been a few things I really needed to take care of at home here this summer, but I've been in one place long enough. It's time to get the A Team back together!"

"Oh! I get it! Because your name starts with an A!" Garcia laughed after a moment, finally getting the joke.

"Yeah, that's it! It's just a small tour- no luxury motor coach this time. I did just take delivery of a black conversion van and I've been hoping to take it in and get a red stripe put on the side, but I'm not sure we'll have time for that," Christine said.

"Okay," Morgan said, "so if you're the leader of the A Team, then that makes you Hannibal, right? So who's Mr. T- Reid?"

They all laughed, and Christine answered, "Actually, Alex is Hannibal, because she likes to be in charge and she loves it when plans come together. Joe is Mr. T because he's a big guy with a bad haircut who pities fools, and I'm Murdoch because I'm the one with all the crazy ideas, which means Spencer, on those rare occasions when he chooses to join us, is Face because, well, come on- look at him!"

"So how was your vacation?" Garcia asked. "Except, of course, for when it got interrupted by Reid doing what Reid does…"

"Hey, you know, I didn't even mind that. In fact, I thought it was kinda hot. Which was a particularly good thing considering the day after that it rained buckets, because I was totally fine with being stuck inside all day showing him just how sexy I think he is."

Morgan slapped Spencer on the back while JJ and Garcia laughed, but Alex protested, "Come on, boss! It's bad enough I have to hear the animal noises coming out of your room every night, but I don't want to hear about it at the dinner table, too! I'm eating here!"

The others all howled with laughter while Christine said, "Hey, that reminds me- while I've got you all here, let me ask you something. Do you think your boss would be cool with him bringing home his handcuffs once in a while? Because that would totally add to the whole sexy cop sorta fantasy…"

"Christine!" Spencer exclaimed, his cheeks turning bright red.

"I'm just saying, baby! You can pat me down and strip-search me anytime. And don't tell me you people work for the FBI and have never played that game before. If you try and say that, then either you're lying or you are doing it wrong, because that is an awesome fucking idea for a game. We haven't done that one yet, but goddammit, I've been thinking about it."

"I'll bet you two have had plenty of practice playing doctor, though," Morgan laughed.

"Oh, absolutely! He especially likes it when make him turn his head and cough."

"Oh my god," Alex muttered, hiding her face in her hands.

"What? It's a perfectly valid part of a physical exam. And you'll all be happy to know that as of Monday morning, when last I checked, Spencer was still the picture of health in that regard."

"You know, I think I'll go get the pie now," Alex said, standing up.

"I think I'll get the ice cream," Spencer added.

"Bring the coffee, too, please!" Christine called after them. "They're both so cute when they're pissed at me…"

"Hey Chris," Garcia asked once Spencer and Alex were out of earshot, "seriously now- did you guy have a good time? Was the vacation nice?"

"It was. It was short, but I thought that was best, to kinda ease Spencer into the idea of taking vacations. I didn't want to shock his workaholic system, know what I mean? And in retrospect it was kind of dumb of me to expect a life-long city dweller like that to readily embrace the backwoods lifestyle, but he was a real trooper. We'll probably even go back."

"That's great!" JJ said.

"Yeah. Say, speaking of getting back- have any of you heard from Elle lately? Will she be getting back to work anytime soon?" Christine asked.

"She's supposed to be on medical leave until October, I've heard," Spencer said, returning with the ice cream and some plates.

"Now, lemme ask you guys," Christine said, "will she be required to get some kind of counseling before she comes back? I mean, you guys have hard enough jobs, but that poor woman's been through some pretty serious psychological trauma, and she totally does _not_ need the stress of being thrown back into the field until she's gotten herself some help!"

The four colleagues looked at one another before Morgan said, "You know, it's typically required in cases like this that an agent submit to a psych eval before being allowed back on the job."

Christine looked up from the pie she was cutting. "Just an eval? That's it? That's a crock of shit right there, because I know just as well as you that every person on your team knows exactly how to answer those questions in order to pass with flying colors. But passing the test won't help her if she's still got issues she needs professional help to deal with!"

Morgan smiled, "Don't worry, Chris. Elle's as solid as they come. She'll be okay. Now pass me a slice of that pie, please- it looks fantastic!"

* * *

A/N

RCMP stands for Royal Canadian Mounted Police. It is a federal law enforcement agency, roughly equivalent in Canada to the FBI in the US.

Cheddar Heads or Cheese Heads is a nickname for Wisconsinites, as Wisconsin is known for it's dairy industry.

Mizzou is another name for the University of Missouri.

If you don't get the "turn your head and cough" joke, Google it.

If you feel the need to see some of the places or things in pictures, I've started an Instagram for Christine. Her user name is thegingerpotamus. Don't forget to include "the" in that. Gingerpotamus is owned by someone else. Please don't bother that nice lady.


	20. Chapter 20

The following Saturday was August 12, and Christine called Alex in to her office to meet for her yearly review. When she walked in, Alex was a little puzzled to see Joe and Spencer sitting there, as well. She sat down next to Joe on the couch, while Spencer sat in a chair in front of the desk behind which Christine was sitting. "Hello," she said tentatively.

The men both responded in kind and Christine began, "The first part of this meeting doesn't require their presence really, so feel free to ignore them, especially the one over there," she said, gesturing to Joe.

"Nothing I'm not used to," Joe answered.

"As it should be. So anyway, let's get this over with, shall we? Now, your employment with me began last year with a salary of $1500 per month plus room and board, correct? On February 1, I raised that to $1750 a month, because you had met all requirements I placed on you and, indeed, far exceeded them. I certainly have nothing negative to say about the work you've done for me. You've worked particularly well with Joe when it comes to scheduling my life, making sure I'm where I need to be and when I need to be there, and you just generally make my whole life run much easier. Effectively, that means that when you do your job well, I'm able to better focus on my job, which allows me to do it much better. Therefore, I will be terminating your employment as my personal assistant effective immediately. That means you're fired."

"What!" Alex cried, jumping up. "But…but…you just said…!"

"I'm firing you," Christine continued, "on the assumption that you'd like to take a better position that I am now going to offer you. Recently, I formed, for tax purposes, a limited liability corporation. I'm the president, Joe here is vice president, and Spencer is the treasurer, which is a fancy way of saying Joe gets to try and boss me around and Spencer balances my checkbook and keeps track of my receipts. We'd like to offer you the position of general secretary, so you get to boss all of us around to make sure things run smoothly. In this capacity, you will receive a salary of $3000 a month, of which you will pay to me $500 for room and board. I know it sounds stupid, but it was the accountant's idea when we spoke with him. Your insurance benefits will remain the same. So, do you want the job?"

Alex looked at the two others then back at Christine and said, "Soooo, what you're telling me is, nothing really changes and I have the same job, just with more money?"

"No," Christine said. "Three things will change. First, you'll have a retirement plan, the details of which Spencer will be happy to explain to you in excruciating detail if you'd like. I recommend asking him about it at bedtime because it will put you to sleep, I guarantee. Second, you will be a 5% shareholder in Gingerpotamus, LLC, which means that when I make money, you'll get a slice of the pie, know what I mean?"

Alex raised her eyebrows. "Really? Wow. But…what's number three?"

"Ah!" Christine said, opening her desk drawer. "Before I tell you that, I want to bring up the matter of one thing you did not do well as my assistant." She handed Alex an envelope. "You did not use all your vacation time. But you did do a great job. So, as a year-end bonus, and as an incentive to get you to take a break, that's a gift voucher from my cousin's wife's travel agency. There's enough in there for a week's getaway for two, and while I won't tell you where to go, I will tell you Christie's specialty is arranging Disney vacations, like you've said you'd like to take your grandma on."

Alex squealed. "Really? I can go?"

"Anytime, sweet pea. You just give me a heads-up when you're planning to take off, okay?"

"Chris," Spencer said with a smile. "You still haven't told her about the third thing."

"Oh yeah," she said, reaching into her pocket and putting out a set of keys which she tossed to Alex. "We all figured that, since you now have your license and part of your responsibilities will include running errands for us, you should have access to a company vehicle. It's out front if you wanna go check it out. First, is there anything anyone else would like to add?"

"Welcome aboard the crazy train, Alex," Joe said.

Spencer smiled and said, "I'll just need you to sign a few things regarding your remuneration and benefits, but I suppose that can wait until later today. Well done, Alex. Thank you for all you do."

Alex jumped up and hugged everyone then bolted out of the office and out of the house with Joe behind her. Christine paused for a moment with her arm around Spencer and squeezed him to her. "You just couldn't resist giving that poor girl a minor heart attack, could you?" he teased.

"Oh, I wouldn't be me if I hadn't!"

When they walked outside, Alex honked at them as she sat behind the wheel of her blue pick-up. "I love it!" she yelled out the window.

Christine leaned on the door and said, "Now, it's not new, but I bought it off Brad, because it used to be his wife's, so you know it was taken perfect care of, and I also had a mechanic look it over to make sure it was fine. It's got front and side airbags and the brakes are in perfect condition-"

"But pick-ups are at a greater risk for roll-over accidents than cars due to their higher center of gravity," Spencer interjected, "and the most common injuries sustained in such accidents are traumatic brain injuries and spinal cord damage with occur as a result of the occupant being trapped when the roof is cru-" he stopped when Christine clapped her hand over his mouth.

"His point is," she said to the horrified-looking Alex, "that no vehicle is ever perfectly safe, and if you're not careful at all times, you stand a better chance of really bad shit happening to you. Always wear your seatbelt, and don't you dare even _think_ about texting while driving, because I will take away your keys so fast it'll make your head spin. Understand?"

"Yes, boss."

"Now then, Joe, you get in the back seat with me, and Spencer, you take shotgun. Alex is going to drive us into town for ice cream- my treat!"

* * *

Eleven days later Spencer was at his desk, yawning while he looked over and made notes on case files when Morgan walked in. "Hey there, Pretty Boy!" he called over from his own desk. "Another late night with the Copper Top?"

"No, actually," he replied, sipping his coffee. "It was a very early morning for me."

"Aw, now that's what I like to hear! Morning lovin' is the best kind!"

"No, it wasn't like that at all," he said, turning to him. "The A-Team left this morning for Toledo. They wanted to be past Pittsburg before rush hour, so they left at 4:00am, and I wanted to see them off. I couldn't get to back to sleep after that, so I just came in to work instead."

"Oh man. I forgot she was touring again. So when's the next time you get to see her?"

"She'll be home again the second week of October for nine days. Before that…well, it depends on whether or not we have a case that keeps me at work for the weekend. If I can get away, I'll go see her for a few days. That's how we usually do it."

Morgan sat back and thought a moment. "Yeah, see, I haven't known her that long, so I guess I never realized you two went through this as a regular thing. It's gotta be rough, being apart so much…"

Spencer shrugged. "Well, it's not any harder for me than it is for her when she's home and I'm away for days or weeks on a case."

"Yeah, but, that's different because…" Morgan fell silent, not quite knowing what to say.

"Because what?" Spencer asked with mischievous smile. "Because our jobs are more important than hers, or perhaps because when two people are in a relationship the man's job takes precedence over the woman's?"

"What? No…I…oh, I don't know," Morgan said. "Maybe you got me with that one. Maybe I do think our job is more important than others. Or more pressing, perhaps, though I probably shouldn't."

"Just be thankful you said that to me and not to her," Spencer said with a chuckle. "To her, her job is the most important one in the world. And she can argue until you beg for mercy. Never forget, part of her job involves delivering verbal take-downs to people who interrupt her that can be so brutal they'll make a grown man cry in public."

"I can't imagine what it's like when you two fight- two know-it-alls who can talk all night and never give up? That's gotta be like watching a tiger and a shark go after one another!"

"But that makes no sense," Spencer said. "Tigers and sharks don't coexist in the same environments…"

Morgan rolled his eyes, "Come on, Reid. You know what I mean. Two badass predators, going after one another…"

"A better analogy would be bark scorpions. Once when I was seven my neighbor found two in his back yard and caught them in a jar and gave them to me. I was too afraid to open the jar to feed them, and they ended up fighting each other."

"So what happened?"

"They stung one another and they both died." Morgan stared at Spencer, his mouth agape. "On second thought, perhaps that's not the best analogy to describe our relationship…" Just then JJ came into the bullpen and called them to the conference room. "Just in time," Spencer said, while Morgan laughed and followed him up the stairs.

* * *

Spencer planned to visit Chris a few weeks later while she was performing in Indianapolis, but a case forced him to cancel at the last minute. They made new plans for the following weekend in Champaign, Illinois, but those had to be abandoned as well. Eventually they agreed to wait until Christine's week off in October. However, when it finally happened that, on the last weekend of September, he was able to get out of town for a few days, he jumped at the chance and flew to Memphis where she was performing Friday night in hopes of surprising her.

His flight landed at 6:57pm, and she was scheduled to be on stage at 8:00. By the time he caught a cab and made it to the club the show had already started and, not wanting to interrupt- or make himself a target of her jokes- he quietly entered and took a seat at the back of the club. Though Christine gave no indication she was able to see him where he sat, his presence did not go unnoticed; after a few minutes, Alex came over and sat down beside him. "It's great to finally see you again!" she whispered while the audience applauded.

"Thanks," he whispered back. "It's great to finally be able to make it!"

On stage, Christine took a sip of tea and continued. "I don't know if any of the rest of you can relate to this, but I've got this thing in my life, and the best way to describe it is like an invisible, swirling vortex that sucks in random fragments of weirdness from the universe and focuses them on me. I'll give you an example: about a year ago, I moved from my apartment in DC to a house on a few acres in rural Virginia so that I could enjoy some peace and quiet when I'm not dealing with the craziness of life on the road, know what I mean? But the weirdness has followed me there, too. And I don't mean just the ordinary, everyday, mullet and jean shorts kind of weirdness you expect to see when you live south of the Mason-Dixon Line. I'm used to that redneck shit. Hell, drive around any small town in Virginia on Sunday morning after the good old boys have been passing around a jug of corn squeezins on Saturday night and you'll see so many car accidents you'd swear that a Camaro wrapped around a telephone pole was our official state tree. No. I'm talking about bits and pieces of weird-ass shit that seem to have been created just for me. Like about a month ago I woke up and wanted to get the newspaper, so I walked down to the end of the drive in my bathrobe like I'm Tony Soprano, because I'm Italian and that's how we roll. So I pick it up- and again, this is in a very rural area where it is unusual to see any traffic- and this woman drives by. But she doesn't just cruise by at a normal speed. No. She'd doing maybe 15 or 20 miles an hour in some beat-up late 80's teal and Bondo colored Ford Tempo with the window rolled down and steering with her knees while snapping on latex exam gloves and making eye contact with me. Now, I don't know if that's normal where you live, but for me, that shit is pretty goddamn weird. And menacing.

"And I'm not picking on the south here. Trust me. I'm originally from Illinois, which not only holds the record for having the most former governors who have done time in prison, but hey- it produced me, okay? So I know weird exists everywhere. And I'll bet you- hey, is there anyone here who's in from out of town or who moved here from somewhere else? Yeah? I'll bet you, if you yell out now where you're from, I can tell you a personal story of something weird that has happened to me there."

She paused for a moment while people started to yell out place names. "Who said Montreal?" she asked, pointing to someone in the crowd. "Was that you? Yeah? First time I was ever flashed was in Montreal. Now, here's the weird part- not only was that dude standing in the middle of four lanes of traffic with his dick in his hand, it was January. In Montreal. Which is to say it was about 12 degrees outside. And what makes that so weird is that, I gotta say, there was just not a whole lot of shrinkage going on. So well done, my fine Canadian friend- even your psych ward escapees are impressively manly. Anyone else?

"Someone over there said Iowa. Two years ago I was in Des Moines around the time of the state fair, which is just hillbilly heaven to y'all, isn't it? I was waiting in line with my brother Joe to get a couple of deep fried Twinkies- which, by the way, were awesome- and the guy in front of us said to his buddy, and I quote: 'I'll have you know, I am the only member of the Jasper County farm board what still got all ten fingers God give him.' So there's a tip for you men next time you're in Iowa- if you walk into a bar and wanna pick some pretty little farmer's daughter, you don't need to be a smooth talker- just hold up both hands and wiggle your fingers to impress her. On that same visit, Joe and I got caught in traffic late one night because everyone was slowing down to take a look at two guys that the cops pulled over for drag racing on the highway, which isn't too weird until I tell you they did it while drunk and on their lawn mowers. That was a unique Hawkeye spin on the whole DUI thing…anyone else?"

She stopped and laughed. "I think you all just heard a lady in the back yell out Las Vegas. Now, I'll tell you that I happen to know that the individual who yelled that is _not_ actually from Vegas. I know that because she's my assistant. However, she yelled Vegas on behalf of my boyfriend who, in addition to being shy and looking like he was hoping I wouldn't pick on him tonight, actually _is_ from Vegas. So what the hell. Vegas is on the table, so let's run with that.

"God…I have so many great Vegas stories. Where do I start? Oh! Here's a good one. Now, this story is a prime example of why I should never be allowed to visit Vegas without my boyfriend. My boyfriend is, like, everything I am not. You know- mature, responsible, respectable, decent, honest and trustworthy- all sorts of boring shit like that. Basically, I'm a 26-year-old little kid, and I depend on him to provide me with proper adult supervision, particularly in a place like Las Vegas. So last February I spent four nights performing in Vegas. After my first show, Joe and I decided to go check out the Strip, and while we were standing on the street arguing about where we were going to go lose our money first, this one random guy started peeing on Joe's leg, right there on the sidewalk. So after he finished and gave it a couple of shakes, we went back to our hotel so Joe could change his pants. Then we went out gambled a little, drank more than a little, and sometime around 1:00am we walked into a nightclub back at our hotel. I was standing there talking to some other chick when this guy walks up with a couple shots for us. We were like, 'Oh, no thank you,' but Joe can't pass up free liquor, so he reached over, grabbed both shots and tossed them back. About 5 or 10 minutes later, I saw Joe kinda staggering towards the exit, so, good sister that I am, I left, too, to try and guide him back to his room. We get as far as the hallway to our rooms when he just drops like a sack of potatoes. Now, Joe is about 5'10" and around 200 pounds, and as you can see, I'm practically a midget. So I did what any good sister would do- I pulled out my cell phone and took a few pictures of him laying there. Then somehow, I got him up, got him to the door of his room, and I went to my room next door and went to sleep.

"Here's where it gets bad. The next morning I wake up and start checking my phone for text messages and then I'm like, 'Well, let's see what happened last night.' And I'm scrolling through my photos and see the ones of Joe lying in the hallway and I'm like, 'Oh shit- that happened. Maybe I should go check on him and make sure he's still alive.' So I knock on the door to his room and get nothing. I call his cell phone and I can hear it ringing in his room, but he doesn't answer. And I'm starting to think Joe's dead, so I panic, because that's a sure-fire way to get uninvited to Thanksgiving dinner with our parents, right? So I get the hotel manager to let me in his room. There is no sign of Joe except his cell phone, which is still in the pocket of his piss-wet pants. I woke up Alex, my assistant, and we started calling the police, the hospitals, the morgue, and everyone trying to find Joe. At about 1:00pm there's a knock on my door and it's Joe who says, 'Two things. First, I hate you. Second, why the hell did I wake up in the hospital this morning after having my stomach pumped and wearing a bracelet listing me as John Doe?'"

Christine paused as the audience gasped and continued, "Turns out, he had never made it into his room, because those drinks he took? They were spiked. Yeah. Basically, Joe roofied himself. After I got him to the door of his room, he passed out again in the hall, and someone else had called and had him taken to the hospital. He had also left his wallet and ID in his piss-pants. That's why we couldn't find him, because he was admitted as a John Doe. He had no money, so he couldn't take a cab, and he walked nearly five miles back to the hotel. After that I had three more nights I had to be in Vegas, and Joe and I both spent the entire time in our rooms, because we were too terrified of the trouble we would get into if we went outside. And that's why I need proper adult supervision in Vegas."

* * *

After the show, Spencer waited for Christine to come out of her dressing room, his arms crossed, barely attempting to hide his scowl. When she came out, she hugged and kissed him, giggling and seemingly oblivious to his foul mood. "Hey, Sparky," she said, smiling. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! Are you tired? Wanna go back to the room? Or would you like to hang out with Joe and Alex for a little while?"

"No, I think I'd much rather we head back to our hotel," he replied kurtly.

On their way back to their room, Christine made small talk, while Spencer replied with simple, short answers. Once the door was shut behind them, she said, "Alright. Out with it. What's got you so upset?"

"You are unbelievable!" he blurted out. "Both of you! All three of you! But most of all, you!"

"This is about the Vegas story, isn't it?"

"Of course it is!"

"Now, before your head explodes I should tell you, that story was slightly embellished. The fact is, I was the one that called the paramedics for Joe. But I was tipsy and in no condition to be of any use at the hospital with him. I didn't realize until the next day he didn't have his ID on him, and by the time I figured that out, he'd already been discharged, which is why when I called looking for a John Doe of that description they couldn't find him in their system! But it all turned out okay and it made for a funny story! No harm, no foul! I don't see what the big deal is…"

"'No harm, no foul'? Christine, I don't care about what happened to Joe! I care about what almost happened to you!"

"But nothing _did_ happen to me, sweetheart!"

"Chris- you could have been raped! Or worse! Some strange guy you met in a club actually _made plans_ to do that to you! How can you not see that?"

"But it didn't happen! I didn't take that drink!"

"You were out partying and put yourself in harm's way! How do you think that makes me feel?"

She flopped down on the bed, exasperated. "Ahhh! Jesus, Spencer! You run around all day chasing the skeeviest, creepiest, most violent people in the world, and you expect me to stay calm and trust you! I think you can trust me to walk into a nightclub in Vegas and not wake up dead the next morning!"

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair as he paced about the room. "Look. I know you walk through this world and find all the funny things in it. But remember- you told me I had a talent for seeing the evil and criminal elements in it. I also have a hell of a lot of training in this area and I'm not stupid-"

"Neither am I!" she said, jumping up to face him.

"Please, baby," he said, trying to calm himself a little. "Please trust me on this. There are people in this world who can and will hurt you if you allow yourself to be a target." He put his hands on her waist and looked in her eyes. "Please promise me you'll be safer. I know I can't stop you from going out and having fun. But promise me you won't be so…unsafe any more. Don't go out alone. Don't get separated from whomever you're with. Take care of and look after one another, and stay together at all times, okay? Promise me," he pleaded, pulling her closer. "I'd never be able to live with it if something happened to you." He kissed her softly and asked again, "please promise."

"Oh…alright," she said at last, putting her arms around his neck. "I promise, though I still think you're over-reacting. It was just a silly story about something stupid that happened in Vegas. Everyone has a story about something stupid that happened in Vegas…"

"I really don't want to talk it about it right now," he said, bending down to kiss her neck.

"Oh? Hey! Your chin is stubbly and ticklish!" she exclaimed, giggling. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"I don't want to talk about anything right now," he said, sliding his hands up under her shirt.

"That's what I was hoping that smile meant," she said, laying back on the bed and pulling him down with her.

As they were laying in bed later, smiling at one another, Christine reached up and played with his hair. "Finally got it cut, hmm? I like it. Very sexy."

He rolled his eyes, "You always say that. But yeah. I had some time so I went and saw Carolyn like you've been telling me too. You're right- she's a very funny lady."

Christine smiled. "I know. I love her. I found her when I was trying to figure out what to do with my hair when it finally started growing back, and no matter how low I felt, she always found a way to make me smile." She looked at him for a while and said, "Come on. What else is going on up there? I know something is bothering you...rough case?"

He sighed. "They all are, but that's not it. Elle came back to work this week."

"Already? I thought you said she wasn't coming back until the middle of October?"

"She got bored, I guess."

Christine made a face. "Do you think she's actually ready to be back?"

"She seems to have healed well."

"That's not what I meant. I mean, did she get any counseling?"

"I doubt it. And if she did…"

"If she did, she'd know exactly what lies to tell to be deemed fit for duty. You people are unbelievable. You all think you're so smart, but- look, Spencer. Promise me something. When it's your time, don't lie and take the easy way out. When you're sent to therapy, take that help, alright?"

He chuckled. "Oh, come on. That's not going to happen to me…"

"No. You don't know that. And when it does, I know you- you're going to try and tell the psychologist everything you think he wants to hear, but that's _not_ going to help you. There may a point when you may need an objective person to sit and listen and help you work through some stuff that's too much for even you to handle on your own!"

He sighed. "Christine, I've been doing this job for almost three years now. I've already seen just about the worst things anyone can see, and I can handle it!"

"You know, you all think you're so smart, that you know everything about psychology already and that you can help yourselves. You guys are like doctors in that regard- every doctor knows that the worst patient they can get is another physician! But let me tell you a story…"

"You have a story about everything," he complained.

"No, you listen to me now, just as I listened to you earlier. You remember my friend in Chicago, Ben? Well, one day he was taking the garbage out to the alley and he found this stray cat. It was the ugliest cat you've ever seen- scrawny, mangy, and it had one eye that was all swollen and oozing pus. But he felt sorry for this cat, and he wanted to take care of it. So he started setting food out for it every day until it finally trusted him enough that he could pick it up and take it to the vet. He got it vaccinated and got eye drops for it and he nursed it back to health. But it wasn't until he brought that cat to live inside with him that he realized he was mildly allergic to cats. So he started taking antihistamines, because he loved that cat and wanted to keep it. Eventually, his symptoms got worse and worse, so he started prescribing himself stronger antihistamines and decongestants to manage them. He kept getting sicker, though, until one day, he woke up in the middle of the night hardly able to breathe, and his wife said, 'That's it- I'm taking you to the emergency room.' When they got to the ER, they sat and waited for a wheelchair, and when they finally got him one, he stood up to get in it and passed out on the floor before he could sit down again. When he woke up, he was in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and they told him what was actually wrong with him- he had bilateral pneumonia. He failed to recognize the symptoms which, as a doctor, he would have immediately recognized in anyone else, because he wanted to treat himself for something simpler, more convenient and much less serious. He could have killed himself, all because he was too damn stubborn to admit he had something that was too serious to deal with on his own. So now I need you to make me a promise. If and when that time comes when you are faced with something too serious to handle alone, take the fucking help when it's offered to you, okay?"

"Okay."

"No, I want to hear you say it. Promise me."

"I promise, baby doll."

She sighed and snuggled up closer to him. "Damn. And people think I'm stubborn."

He chuckled, kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair until they both fell asleep.

* * *

A/N

Bark scorpions are native to the American southwest, including Reid's home state of Nevada. Unlike other scorpions indigenous to that area, they are not typically solitary creatures and it is common to find several coexisting. However, among the indigenous scorpions, they are also the most dangerous, and their stings can cause severe pain and even death to human beings. If they don't have access to sufficient food, they have also been known to kill and cannibalize one another. This makes Reid's story therefore plausible, that he really might have had a neighbor who found one or more of these critters, that Spencer would have been afraid to open the jar, and that they could and would have killed one another.

The Mason-Dixon Line is a surveyors line which, in the late 18th century, demarcated the boundaries between certain states, most prominently Pennsylvania and Maryland. Later in the 19th century, it came to indicate those states in which slavery was and was not allowed. In modern American culture it is used to note the difference between northeastern and southeastern states. Virginia is south of that line, as is, technically speaking, Washington, DC.

"Corn squeezins" is a reference to moonshine, or illegally produced and distributed distilled liquor.

Iowa's nickname is "the Hawkeye State".

In the US, John Doe (or in the case of females, Jane Doe) is a name given to someone who's true identity is not known.

This chapter starts in August 2006 and concludes at the end of September 2006, just after the original air date of season 2, episode 2, "P911". In that episode, Elle returns to work early, in defiance of doctors orders, because she found herself growing bored and frustrated at home. Also, in that episode Reid debuts a new haircut- he went from basically having his hair all one length in season 1 to having (in my opinion, much more adorable) bangs for season 2.


	21. Chapter 21

Christine sat up and yawned. Reaching for her glasses she asked, "Hey- what time is it?"

"Almost 11:00am," Spencer called from the bathroom, where he'd just stepped out of the shower.

"Ugh. That's just too damned early…" she moaned, and flopped back on the bed.

"Too early?" he exclaimed as he came back into the room with a towel around his waist. "Just what kind of hours have you been keeping lately?" he asked as he pulled on his pants.

"Late ones. And you kept me up most of the night last night, too."

He smiled as he buttoned up his shirt. "Strange. I didn't hear you complaining about that at the time. In fact," he said, sitting down beside her, "as I recall, it was you who woke me up at 3:00am asking me to-"

"Oh yeah!" she said, laughing. "Yeah, that…you have to admit, that was a damn fine idea!"

He leaned down to kiss her. "Yes, it was. Very creative, too!"

"Yeah, well…when we're apart for extended periods of time, I have to occupy my dirty little mind somehow. I've been thinking about doing _that_ for weeks now. In fact, if you'd like to come back to bed now…"

He stood up and smiled. "Right now I'm famished. We've already missed breakfast, but if you get up now we might still have time for lunch." She pouted for a moment before sitting up and staring at him. "What?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just…you always put your contacts in right after you get out of the shower. So what's with the glasses, Sparky?"

His face changed and he suddenly became angry. "You want to know what's up with my glasses? Really? Well, I had the last of my contacts in my go-bag in our closet, dear, and guess what was in it when I opened it up the night after you guys left?" She shook her head, which caused him to rummage around in his bag until he pulled out a small box and tossed it to her. "What do you suppose happened to that?"

She turned over the box of contact lenses that appeared to have been chewed on by a small animal with tiny, sharp teeth and tried unsuccessfully not to laugh. "Oh no…Spud strikes again!"

"Yes, Spud strikes again. I'm happy you find this so amusing! As for me, those were the last of my contacts, so I'm forced to wear glasses for the foreseeable future!"

"Oh, it's not so bad. Just order more. You can even do it online. Ask Penny to help you, if you need it."

"Penny?" he asked, bemused.

"Sorry. Pen. El. Oh. Pee," she enunciated.

"Yes, I know who you're talking about. It's just- I don't think I've ever called her by her first name. I've always just called her Garcia."

"Yeah, well, I prefer first names."

"I know. And nicknames. Hey, that brings me to something I've been meaning to ask you- do you think you could try _not_ calling JJ 'Barbie' anymore? She really hates it when you call her that."

"I suppose…" she said.

"I know why you call her that, because you're somehow jealous of her, though you needn't be, and it's a rather unsubtle way of implying she's some sort of bimbo, which she isn't. It hurts her feelings, and she is my friend and colleague…"

"Yes, I know. And honestly, I don't dislike her. She seems nice enough. But she's just so damned skinny and tall and perfect in every way- kinda like every pretty bitch who ever picked on me as a kid. But you're right- I shouldn't treat her for the way others have treated me. So I promise- I'll play nice."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

"Even if I do think her perfect, scrawny little self would be better off on steady diet of bacon cheeseburgers and milkshakes…"

"Hey, behave!"

"Or what? Will you spank me, if I don't?"

"I will not. That would only encourage you. Now, come on- get up. I'm hungry, and I promised Alex I'd get you to the local radio station for your interview on time so we need to get going soon if we're going to do both!"

* * *

Ten days later she pulled up the drive at home and, seeing that the only light on was coming from the library window, decided to be clever and try to sneak up on him. She put her bag down quietly at the foot of the stairs and tiptoed down the hallway and into the library expecting to see him reading in the chair that she now found empty. As she stood with her hands on her hips, looking around and listening for his whereabouts, suddenly two hands grabbed her by the waist as a voice said, "Boo!"

She let out a blood-curdling scream as she spun around, swinging her fist, which Spencer caught in his hand just before it connected with his groin. " _GODDAMMIT!_ Are you trying to kill me?" she screamed at him.

"Me?" he laughed, pleased that, for once, he'd been the successful perpetrator of a prank instead of her victim. "Do you realize what you were aiming for, darling? I think I'm the victim here!"

"You nearly gave me a goddamned heart attack!" she said, leaning back against the couch and clutching her chest rather dramatically. "And that- that was just a reflex, the result of a youth spent being tormented by Joe! Blame him for that. Jesus! Why would you do that to me?"

"Look me in the eye and tell me you weren't hoping to sneak in here and terrorize me in the same way," he said, smiling and leaning in so that their noses nearly touched.

She rolled her eyes at him and said, "Yeah, well, that's not the same!"

"Oh, no you don't! You're not getting off that lightly!" he teased. "We _both_ can play that game. You just don't want to admit that, for once, I bested you!"

"Hey, if you want to throw down with me, have at it, baby. But before you do, just remember that not only am I just as smart as you, I am _way_ more mischievous, sneaky and devious. You will _never_ out-prank me. So before you decide to go down that road, you need to ask yourself: 'Is this the hill I wanna die on?'"

He stood back and looked at her for a moment and said, "Perhaps not. And anyway, it's my birthday…"

"Not for another two days, it's not."

"It's close enough. And you know that I'm never entirely sure when I may be called away, so I was thinking we could celebrate a little tonight already."

"Oh, I think I know what that smile means," she giggled, grinning back at him.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand, "I have something for us up stairs."

"I'll bet you do," she replied, taking his hand and following him up to the bedroom.

When they got to the room, she found he'd started a fire in the fireplace. "You know, it's almost been exactly one year since we first spent the night together, and we haven't had a fire in here since. So a few weeks ago I went to the library and read up on how to build a proper fire," he explained, putting his arms around her. "Then I monitored the arrival of your plane online, calculated how long it would take for you to deplane and be on the road, assuming you didn't check any luggage, and based on traffic patterns at this time of the evening, I determined when you'd arrive home. I was up here lighting this right when you pulled up. These are for you," he added, handing her a dozen white tulips and gesturing to a package on the bed, "and so is that."

"What?" she asked incredulously. "But it's _your_ birthday!"

"Well, you don't like to celebrate your own birthday, and you never seem to want to let me spoil you as I'd like. But now it's my birthday. This is what _I_ want to do. Besides, I think you'll find that what's in that package is as much for me as it is for you."

She sat down on the bed and picked up the box. "Well, then, I think I can imagine what this is," she said, opening it. "Ah, yes. Lingerie!"

"Buying that was probably the single most awkward shopping experience I have ever had in my life," he said, smiling and blushing. "You can imagine the look on the sales associate's face when I told her I wanted to buy some lingerie for _my_ birthday…"

"Oh, no!" she cried, laughing loudly.

"Oh, yes. It took a second for me to realize what I had said that had caused the look of horror on her face, so then I tried to explain that it was for my girlfriend, that I wanted to give her something pretty to wear on my birthday, but I was stuttering and my voice cracked..." he shook his head, "When she did show me a few things I tried to explain that I needed to see something with a larger bust size, but then I made the mistake of doing so by using my hands to illustrate the size of your breasts, which only seemed to creep her out her more. Then for some reason I felt the need to explain that she needn't be alarmed because I'm not a sexual predator, and I told her that statistics show that it is actually quite rare for cross-dressers to sexually aggress against heterosexual women, not that I am a cross-dresser because I was buying lingerie for my girlfriend, not myself, and that even if it was for me that she wasn't even my type because she's a brunette and you're a red-head and that she can trust me because I work for the FBI…" he sighed. "So, to make a long story short, I don't think I can ever show my face in the Fair Oaks Mall Victoria's Secret ever again…"

Christine was in tears from laughing at his story. When she finally settled down and was able to speak, she said, "Oh, you poor thing! Well, after what you went through just to buy this, I suppose the least I can do is wear it, huh? Let me go put it on, sweetheart."

As she went into her closet to change, he arranged their two chairs and a little table in front of the fire and opened a bottle of champagne. A short time later, she emerged in a white negligee with little purple flowers at the hem. He stood and smiled at her. "Well…what do you think?" she asked.

"I think," he said, taking her hand, "that every time I believe I've seen you at your most beautiful, I look at you once more and…you take my breath away all over again. Come, sit with me for a moment." He poured them each a glass of champagne and set out a box of chocolates, which caused her to wrinkle her nose.

"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically. "I hate chocolate. You _know_ I hate chocolate."

"Yes, but it's not _your_ birthday now, is it?" he laughed.

"Touché."

"Besides, I got you these," he said, placing another box on the table.

"Yay! Red Vines!" she exclaimed, immediately grabbing one and taking a bite. "You're the best boyfriend, ever, you know that?" she said, pointing at him with the rest of the piece in her hand.

He smiled. They sat for a moment and held hands before he said, "You know, if someone had told me on my 23rd birthday that by the time I was 25 I'd be here, celebrating my birthday with the most beautiful woman in the world, and that we would have shared so much laughter and love, that we'd fight and hurt and worry and go on adventures and come through it all still together, I never would have believed them. I didn't think I'd ever find someone to love who would love me back. Sometimes, it still feels like a dream. I've never believed in God or karma or fate, but when I think of you, it seems there must be someone or something out there looking out for me, because no man could be this lucky."

She smiled and was about to say something before she simply began laughing. He squeezed her hand. "Hey- what's so funny?"

"It just occurred to me that all this happened- that we happened- all because of Joe. And that made me think, is that really what angels are like? Is that how they blend in with us mere mortals, disguised as obnoxious, annoying, farting, big brothers?"

Spencer started coughing on the sip he'd been taking when she said this. Christine slapped him on the back good-naturedly and they both laughed until finally Spencer said, "You know- I think you owe your brother a raise."

She giggled some more and then leaned over to kiss him. He set his glass down and sank his fingers into her hair. After a moment she pulled back and said simply, "I love you, Spencer."

He smiled. "Ah, you said it first for a change!'

"Yes, well…I always love you. You should know that even without me saying it."

"It's still nice to hear. And I love you, too." The kissed again and he said, "now stand up for me." She did so, and he said, "please turn around. Slowly." After she had done so, he finished the last of his glass, stood up, and putting his hands on her hips, said, "happy birthday to me!"

He walked over to the bed and pulled the covers back, then led her over and had her lay down. He sat beside her and leaned over to kiss her while his one hand moved down and slipped under her negligee. He sat up and pulled her panties slowly down her legs and dropped them to the side of the bed, then ran his hands slowly back up her legs and over her hips. He leaned over to kiss her flat belly, before pushing the strap off one of her shoulders and reaching into her bodice to expose her breast. He ran his thumb lightly over her little pink nipple before leaning back down to kiss it. She sighed happily when he did so, and moaned when he sucked on and bit it lightly. She arched her back reflexively when he did the same to her other breast. He slipped one hand between her thighs and ran a single finger up and down before pushing it into her, causing her to gasp. He stood up and undressed slowly, facing her and watching her face as she admired his body. He smiled, remembering that the year before, when they first made love, he'd been too shy to let her look at his naked body. He marveled at how the thought of doing so had once filled him with dread and fear that she might reject him. But quickly it had come to feel like the most natural thing in the world to let her look at him because he trusted her to love and accept him just as he was. Once he'd stripped, she propped herself up on one arm and reached out to grasp him with the other hand. She leaned forward and planted several light, sweet kisses on the tip of his penis before running her tongue slowly down and back up it again. He stroked her hair and smiled down at her as she continued this until she took him into her mouth. He groaned as she began to suck on him more and more forcefully until he had to push her head back, saying, "not yet, baby doll. I'm not ready to be finished with you yet." He climbed onto the bed, pulled her knees apart, and ran his hands up her thighs, smiling at her. He reached up and pulled the bodice of her negligee down, exposing both her breasts, and when he looked back up to see her smiling and biting her lip coyly, he quickly lifted her left leg over his shoulder and drove himself into her. He didn't fuck her fast, as she often urged him to do, but slowly, deliberately and forcefully, enjoying every little cry and moan and soft, tiny kiss she planted on his neck and arm and shoulders as he did so until her voice rose to an ecstatic scream as her orgasm crashed over her.

He released her raised leg and let her lay back on the bed for a moment to catch her breath as he kissed her and stroked her soft, pale shoulder. After her breathing had slowed, he pressed his cheek to hers and asked softly, "Ready?" She giggled and nodded, and he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him and onto him. He grasped her hips tightly and moved her, setting his desired pace. Once he had done so, ran his hands up to her breasts. She so sweet and innocent and incredibly sexy all at the same time in that delicate white negligee pulled down beneath her breasts, her long hair, glowing even redder from the light of the fireplace, framing her smiling face and flowing loosely over her shoulders, nearly to her waist. He fondled her breasts and watched, mesmerized, how they moved as she rode him. Suddenly, he was overcome by the need and desire to cum within her, so he swiftly pulled her to him, flipped her over, and thrust into her at a furious, relentless pace, until he came with a loud shout, groaning and throbbing deep within her as she kicked and screamed, helplessly overcome by her own climax once more.

When he was able to move again, he rolled off her and lay beside her staring up at nothing in particular and running his hands through his sweat-damp hair. She rolled over and put an arm across him and snuggled her head against his shoulder. "I, um…I was, you know…kind of hoping to make that…last a little longer," he said at last.  
"Oh, you certainly did an admirable job tonight, Sparky. I'm beyond happy," she giggled. "But if you'd like to try again, I'm certainly game…"

"Baby doll, I don't think I can!"

"What? That doesn't sound like you at all! Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course," he said with a smile. "It's not that I can't physically, but rather that I really need to get some rest tonight- tomorrow is still a work day for me."

"Ohhh," she whined, hugging him tighter. "Tell Aaron you can't make it. Call in sick."

"You know I can't do that, silly," he said, turning over to face her.

"Fine. I'll call him. I don't mind lying to your boss…"

"You'll do nothing of the kind! And push your lower lip back in. I hate it when you pout like that."

"Actually, you secretly like it when I pout, because you usually end up giving me what I want!"

"No, I don't like it, and I only give you what you want to make you stop. Anyway," he said, reaching out with one finger to push in her lip, which she promptly stuck back out, "I wanted to ask you about something."

"Okay…"

"Now, I noticed you have a few days off right around Halloween, and, well, you know how much I like Halloween…"

"Really? You like Halloween? I never would have guessed that from the way you go on and on and on and on about it," she teased.

"Hey, it's fun and creepy and I like it, okay?"

"You like candy, anyway…"

"That too. But I was wondering if…well, if it wasn't too much of a bother, if you'd be willing to come home for a couple of days. I thought it might be nice to hand out candy together, if you think we'll get any trick-or-treaters out here. And if so, then we should probably discuss what costumes we'll be wearing."

"So what- are you thinking we should coordinate our costumes as a couple?"

"Well," he said a little bashfully, suddenly thinking his idea to do just that sounded rather childish, "I thought maybe it would be kind of fun to do- if you want to, that is."

"That sounds _amazing_!" she exclaimed, sitting up. "Oh my god! And I have the perfect, most awesome idea _ever_!"

"But…I want something that will be scary, not just cute or funny, Chris…"

"Dude, you know me- I don't do cute. And this idea will be absolutely terrifying, guaranteed! Check it out- we're going to go with a Peter Pan theme!"

"What? No! That's not scary at all! And I don't want to be Peter Pan!"

"No, no, no. Let me finish. You won't be Peter. We'll make Alex be Peter."

"So then, what? I have to be Captain Hook? That's still not scary."

"No! I'm not done! _I'm_ Captain Hook, because he's the one with the coolest costume and because, come on- you know me. Give me a couple of shots of rum and I'm an instant pirate. Which means you, my darling, sweet, wonderful, handsome, sexy love," she said, leaning over to kiss him, "you get to be Tinker Bell!"

" _Are you out of your mind_?" he practically screamed at her. "No! No way!"

"Yes! Think about it! You'll be a grown man in tights, a tutu and pixie wings. And then we'll have you not shave for three or four days, and when you open the door for trick-or-treaters, you'll have on a messy blond wig and be holding a half-empty bottle of gin in your hand. It'll confuse the hell out of the little kids, _and_ it'll strike fear into the heart of every parent in town!"

"That is the craziest idea I've ever heard of!"

"I know! But think about it- if you were a parent, wouldn't the idea that the guy who's the nice, quiet, mild-mannered FBI agent by day might be a drunken weirdo who dresses like a fairy and gives free candy to little boys and girls by night just scare the shit out of you? I know it sure as hell would scare me. I guarantee, if you do this, then those websites where you can go and find out if there are registered sex offenders in your area will have everyone in Bristow doing a search, looking for your name."

"That's insane!"

"That's legitimately scary!"

"I am _not_ dressing up as a debauched, degenerate Tinker Bell for Halloween!"

"But-"

"No!"

"But-"

"I said no! I will _not_ be a fairy, or sprite, or pixie, or anything of the sort for Halloween, nor will I lead the whole town to believe I might be an alcoholic pedophile simply for the sake of scaring them for one night!"

"I thought you said you _wanted_ to be scary?"

"Not that scary!"

She flopped back on the bed and crossed her arms. "You're mean," she complained.

"And you're crazy!" he shot back.

"It's an awesome idea."

"For you, sure! I have no doubt you've been looking for a proper excuse to stomp around saying, 'Yarrr!', swing a cutlass and just generally behave badly. I, however, have _not_ been waiting all year for a chance to wear tights and a little skirt and be suspected of being a child molester!"

"Well then, what was your idea, _Doctor_ Reid?"

"Something more normal, like Frankenstein and the Bride of Frankenstein."

"You know what's another word for normal? Booooooring…"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to be Tinker Bell!"

"Hey, Spencer?"

"What now?" he complained.

"I don't think I could even come back for Halloween, anyway. During those few days I have no shows I still have interviews and an album signing to attend."

"So you were just tormenting me with the whole Tinker Bell idea after all?" He sighed, both from exasperation and from disappointment. There were so many things he'd always dreamed of doing once he had a girlfriend. He knew it was, perhaps, a silly dream to have a pretty girl to dress up with for Halloween, but it was still _his_ dream. He rolled over to turn away from her and pulled the covers up over his shoulders.

"Oh, don't be like that! You can still come and visit me over the weekend, if you want! I'm sure we can find a party to go to no matter where I am! And if you really don't want to be Tinker Bell-"

"I do not."

"Okay, then you can be whatever you want. I think I'd still like to be a pirate, though…" He didn't respond for a moment, so she scooted closer, kissed his neck and said, "Hey, sweetheart. Listen, I have something for you. I was going to wait until your actual birthday to give it to you, but if you'd like, you can have it now…"

He turned onto his back and looked at her. "I thought you didn't like birthday presents."

"Not for myself, but that's just because I don't like birthdays. But since you _do_ like celebrating yours…would you like it now?"

He smiled and sat up. He knew it was rather childish of him, but he really did like birthdays and presents. They didn't carry with them the same unpleasant memories for him that they did for her. "Yes, please! What did I get?"

She chuckled and got up. He watched her as she walked naked to the closet. She had always been right- he was a breast man, and he couldn't take his eyes off hers, as full and firm as they were. But he loved her whole figure, how her breasts set off her tiny waist and round hips, and watching her from behind also gave him immense pleasure. She had such a delightful little bottom…

She came back out with her hands behind her back and said, "Okay. Now close your eyes and hold out your hands. No! Close them! Stop peeking or you're not getting this. I can wait all night, Spencer," she chided until he complied.

After she placed the small, metallic object in his hands, he opened his eyes. "A revolver? Wow. Okay…thanks!" He _was_ pleased, and he knew it wasn't a cheap gift- a Smith  & Wesson 65 was not an easy find since they were no longer in production- but he wondered at the meaning behind it.

"Look. I know you think you're not the best shot with a standard issue semi-auto 9mm, but maybe you just haven't found a firearm that suits you yet. When I saw this, it just screamed your name. It's different and it's classic. You know," she said, sitting down, putting her arms around him and kissing his cheek, "you're not a typical FBI agent. You're never going to quite fit that burly, stoic, tough-guy mold. But in my opinion, that just makes you more amazing. The bureau may have thousands of Aarons and Dereks, but they're pretty damned lucky to have also found the one and only, completely unique and totally original Spencer Reid. _I'm_ damned lucky to have Spencer Reid. This gun, it might not hold as many bullets as others, but that's okay. You won't need them. You are not the kind of man to make mistakes. And you are my hero." She kissed him again, this time on the lips. "I love you, Spencer."

He placed the gun on the nightstand and took her in his arms. "I love you, too, Christine. Thank you for the gift. It's perfect." He made room for her under the covers again and decided to forgo more sleep on a work night by making giddy, giggling love to her again.

* * *

The next day he kissed her softly goodbye and left for work without waking her. A few hours later he sent her a text, _Just got a case in LA._

He didn't really expect an immediate response, but she was either already awake or the buzzing of her phone woke her, because he received back, _Duuuuude. That sucks! Tell Aaron I'll punch him in the throat if you don't come home before I leave again._

He looked over at Hotch as the jet prepared for takeoff and smiled to himself at the thought of how he'd react if he did relate Christine's message to him. He texted back, _I'll let him know. Call you tonight?_

Hotch looked over at him. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, sir," Spencer answered. His phone vibrated again. _Call me anytime. I love you. Be safe._ He smiled and stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

* * *

It was late in the evening when they returned from LA, two days later. The lights were all out in the house, and he walked quietly upstairs where he got undressed and slipped into bed beside her. She was curled in a fetal position with her back toward him, so he put his arm over her and pulled her to him. She was wearing just an old t-shirt and panties, but she was still so adorable to him that he quickly grew hard as he rubbed her bottom and kissed her neck.

She woke with a yawn and a giggle. "Hey, you're back!"

"Mmhmm…"

She snuggled back up against him and said, "Ooh, and you're horny, too!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said simply as he pulled her panties down off her hips and slid his hand back up to fondle her breasts. He leaned over to kiss her cheek and in doing so, pressed her belly-down against the bed. He got on his knees, straddled her and pulled her up by her hips. "I love you, Christine," he said softly, and thrust himself into her, causing her to gasp.

"Oh, Spencer," she moaned as she balanced on her elbows. "God! Oh, I love you, too!" She gripped the bed tightly as he took her, strangely thrilled by his unexpected assertiveness. He held her tightly until he released her hip from his left hand and slid in under her belly and between her legs to rub her with one finger. Her hands grasped at the sheets and her pillow as he did so. When her voice rose and begin to break into it's now-familiar scream, he closed his eyes and, holding her to him once more with both hands, allowed himself to climax with a shout as she clawed desperately at the bed. After a long, glorious moment, he released her; she collapsed helplessly to the bed and he laid back beside her. After a minute she rolled over onto her back, grasped his hand and said, "Well, hot damn! Welcome home, Agent Reid!"

He chuckled, pulled her hand up to kiss it and said simply, "Thanks. It's great to be home!"

She turned to him to stroke his hair and asked with a giggle, "Well, what brought that on? Rough case? Not that I'm complaining!"

"Well, I've been thinking for days now about how you're as beautiful from behind as you are from the front. I've hardly been able to sleep because of it," he chuckled. After a moment he continued, "And they're all rough cases. This one…this was a case of sex being used for all the wrong reasons." He brushed her cheek and smiled at her thoughtfully before pulling her panties all the way down and off. As he did so, she pulled off her shirt and tossed it aside and put her arms around him. He kissed her and continued, "I'm just very, _very_ happy that with you, I get to do it for all the right reasons."

She smiled and said, "God, I love you, Spencer!"

He ran his hand up her thigh as she wrapped her legs around him. "And I love you, too. Very much."

* * *

A few days later, she was gone again, this time to Nashville. The day she left, the BAU got another case which took them to Dayton, Ohio in search of a serial rapist. That night in Nashville, after her show and the meet and greet that followed, she made plans with Joe and Alex to go out to go out to a bar and hear some music. She was in her room changing when her phone buzzed. She looked at it, perplexed. It wasn't like Spencer to call her this late. After another ring, she answered it. "Hello?"

"Hi. It's me. Hope I didn't wake you…"

"No, of course not. What's wrong?"

After a second he asked, "What makes you think something's wrong?"

"Well, it's 11:12pm here in Nashville, which means its after midnight in Dayton. And you'd never call to just chat at that hour unless something's bothering you, so…what is it?"

"I'm worried about Elle."

She sat down on the bed. "You've alluded to that before. So what's changed, sweetheart?" She heard a knock on the door. She scribbled a quick note that said, _Go without me_ , opened the door and handed it to Alex, who nodded and waved goodbye as Christine pointed to the phone in her hand and mouthed _Spencer_.

He sighed heavily and said, "Well, I went to her room. After hours. Just to check on her, you know?"

"Yeah. That was nice of you, Spencer."

"Chris…she was drinking."

"Well, the drinking alone is not a problem. Remember, after hours she's got a right to do whatever she damned well pleases, whether you guys are at home or on the road."

"I know."

"So then what's the problem? Do you think her drinking will inhibit her ability to do her job tomorrow? Or do you have a problem because you think she's drinking to avoid dealing with psychological trauma?"

"Yes...yes, I think…no, I _know_ that's it. Chris, she said that when she was shot, and Garner wrote on the wall in her blood, she was aware of it. She could _feel_ his fingers in his wounds."

"Oh, god…"

"And now we're dealing with a rapist. Chris- she's reliving her own violation and victimization. I know that's what's going on in her mind. And…I'm worried it's going to be too much for her."

"Hey, Sparky- can I tell you something?"

"Please."

"First, there are things you can control, and other's you can't. There are some things that are your responsibility and others that are not. You cannot control Elle. She is her own woman. She should have gotten proper help before going back to work, and you can't bear the blame if she didn't. But you can be a good friend to her. You can't help what cases your team takes, because that's not your call. You can let Aaron know of your concerns- and you probably should- but ultimately it is his decision what to do about her. Furthermore, you are just one man. This world places heavy enough burdens on each of us for our own lives. You cannot help everyone else to bear theirs, as well. It's noble of you to try, but you just can't, Spencer. Sometimes you just have to let them take responsibility for their own lives and be available to help them pick up the pieces when it all falls apart."

"I know," he said after a moment. "But I just…"

"You want to solve everyone's problems for them. I know that. Solving problems is what you do. It's who you are. And you have such a tremendous, wonderful, tender heart that you want to help every one you know. But there are times, Spencer, when you have to let people lead their own lives, you know? For better or for worse, there are some things people just have to do and learn for themselves. So be there for her. Be her friend, and if you have professional concerns, then tell Aaron. But you cannot carry all _her_ pain around in _your_ heart for her."

"Yes, I know," he said, wiping the tears from cheeks that she could hear in his voice. "You're right. I'm just worried about my friend."

"I know you are, sweetheart. I know. Say, are you going to be okay? Promise me you'll go find Derek or Jennifer or someone to talk to if it's too much, alright? And when that case is over, you can come with me for a few days, or I can send Joe to go hang out with you. Whatever you want. You shouldn't be alone, not if you're this upset."

"I'm okay. I'm fine, baby doll. I'll be okay, I promise."

"Okay. Keep me posted. Call any time, even if I've got a show. If you call, Joe will get a message to me the second I'm done."

"Yes. I will. I promise."

"Spencer?"

"Yes?"

"I love you, Spencer. I mean that."

"I know you do. I love you, too."

"Now please get some sleep, darling."

"I'll try. And you- don't party too hard tonight."

She smiled. "Ah, I think I'm just going to go to sleep myself now. Good night."

"Good night."

She turned off the phone and flopped back on the bed. She stared up at the ceiling, imagining how he was feeling right now, knowing his friend was standing on a precipice and knowing that no matter how badly he wanted to, there was nothing he could do to pull her back if she was determined to jump off it.

Because sometimes, when your friends are hurting, all you can do is let them know you're there, and that you're ready and willing to love them through it, if only they can find the courage to reach out for help.

* * *

A/N

Early in season 2, Reid is seen wearing glasses rather than his usual contacts. In real life, this was because actor Matthew Gray Gubler had an opthamological problem that prevented him from wearing contacts. As the show never explained the characters need for this, I decided to just blame Spud, because, well, cats like to get into all sorts of goofy trouble, don't they?

At the end of the season 1 episode, "L.D.S.K.," Hotch gives Reid a standard-issue, 9mm semi-automatic pistol, likely a Glock. By season 4 he is regularly seen carrying a Smith and Wesson model 65, a .357 magnum revolver with a 3" barrel. In the 1970's these had been commonly used in law-enforcement but fell out of use in the 1990's-early 2000's. Discussions I've read indicate that some individuals who are uncomfortable with a semi-auto weapon find these still preferable as the allow for greater accuracy, even though they cannot be fired or reloaded as quickly. By the time Spencer receives his, especially since it appears to be in impeccable condition, it would have been a desirable and sought-after collectable, particularly among rather nostalgic law enforcement officials.

The first episode referenced in this chapter is "Psychodrama". It takes place in Los Angeles and had an original airdate of October 11, 2006, one day prior to Spencer's 25th birthday. In it, a bank robber who had been sexually abused as a child forces hostages to simulate sex acts on one another.

The second episode referenced is "The Aftermath," in which Reid does, in fact, visit Elle in her hotel room to find her drinking alone.


	22. Chapter 22

Sunday, Spencer rose later than usual. When he did get up, he gathered his newspapers and carried them into the library to read over espresso. Four espressos later, he set the newspapers aside, moved to the desk, and tried to write a letter to his mother. He struggled to put into words how he felt, and he worried that, even if he could describe everything he was now experiencing, it might upset his mother too much to read.

In the end, Elle wasn't ready to return to work. She hadn't dealt with the trauma of her own attempted murder. And when she found herself under too much stress, she had taken a suspect's life. He wanted to believe her story that she had acted in self-defense. He hoped it was true, but he wasn't naïve. He knew what Morgan and JJ thought, that Elle had murdered the suspect. But if Elle had truly murdered that man in cold blood, what could it mean for any of them? They were all experts on criminal behavior. Were any of them capable of doing the unthinkable, of themselves becoming criminals when pushed to their breaking points?

These were thoughts that were impossible to share with his mother without upsetting her. After staring at the page for a moment, he began to write just a few simple lines about the dismal change in the weather that day, that he was happy he'd had time the day before to visit a local pumpkin patch, where he'd loaded Alex's truck down with dozens of pumpkins what now lined the veranda, and that he'd finally made an optometrist's appointment to get replacements for the contacts Spud had mauled. He found himself smiling to himself now- he'd never owned pets before, and Spud was always so annoyingly underfoot, but the thought of the cat diving into his go-bag and attacking his contacts _was_ ridiculously humorous…

He stopped and looked up, his pen raised. He was certain he'd heard footsteps on the veranda. He had turned to look out the window when he heard a key turning in the front door. He quietly stood, walked silently to the doorway and looked down the hall.

"Hey, man! There you are!" Joe said, cheerfully. "Hope you don't mind I let myself in- Chris gave me her key when I said I might stop by…"

"Hey, come on in," Spencer said, ushering him into the library. "So what brings you by?"

"The boss is giving me some time off so I can help Laurie finish up with the wedding preparations," he said, flopping down on the couch, "though I'll be damned if I know what anyone expects me to do. We guys just have to show up at the right church at the right time and say whatever the preacher tells us to, right? So before I headed home to Baltimore to get bored out of my mind, I thought I'd stop in here and watch the Bears game with you, since y'all have a bigger TV than mine…"

"Really?" Spencer asked, half smiling, as he sat down in the armchair nearby. "That's the only reason you stopped by?"

"Well, that, and I was hoping there might be a free beer or two to go along with that football game…"

"So your visit has absolutely nothing to do with your sister's concern over my mental and emotional wellbeing, in light of my colleague's recent difficulties?"

"What? No…no man, I just wanted to watch the game with an old buddy of mine."

"Hey, Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"The Bears aren't playing this week."

"No?"

"No. But then, you already knew that, didn't you?"

Joe sat up and smiled. "Of course I did. I'm just surprised you knew it, too."

"Well, you can report back to Chris that you've seen me, that I'm okay, and that I'm not on the verge of an emotional breakdown. I don't need a babysitter…"

"Hey, man, I know that. So does she. But you're still my friend, and I still wanted to check in on you. And…maybe that's not the only reason I wanted to stop in before going home."

"Oh?" Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not having second thoughts about the wedding, are you?"

"Me? God no! No it's just…" he paused for a moment and looked around as if to make sure they weren't being overheard, even if they were the only two in the house. "It's just that, I got some news this morning I still don't quite know how to wrap my mind around. If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone else?"

"Okay," Spencer answered slowly.

"And I mean you can't even tell Chris- not yet anyway."

"Alright."

"Well," Joe began, running one hand through his hair and smiling, "Laurie and I decided a while back that we wanted to try and have a baby after we were married. So she went off the pill a little over a month ago, because we were told that it could take a while for that to all clear out of her system. And when Chris came back here for a few days with you, I went back home, too, and…well, Laurie called this morning…"

Spencer's eyes grew wide as a smile spread across his face. "You're going to be a father? That's amazing! Aren't you excited?"

"Well, yeah I'm excited. And stunned…"

"So why the big secret then?"

"Come on. You've met my parents. It's hard enough for them knowing that their two youngest are living in sin. Can you imagine how my mother will take it if she finds out her newest grandchild was conceived out of wedlock?"

"Oh, that's still her grandchild! She'll love it no matter what."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Not before she boycotts our wedding and makes sure everyone she talks to knows she thinks we're hypocrites who deserve to be struck by lightning for getting married in a church instead of at the courthouse."

"She wouldn't do that…"

"Oh, yes she would. Besides, we're not from Vegas. We're from Hampshire, and in a town of less than 2,000 people where everyone knows your name, you try to keep up appearances. So anyway…let's just keep this between us for now, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Hey- the Bears might not be on, but would you still like that beer?" Spencer said with a smile.

"I'd love it."

They retrieved two from the kitchen and moved to the parlor. "So what's it feel like, knowing you're going to be a father now?" Spencer asked.

"Shocking. Terrifying." He took a sip and added, "Don't get me wrong- I'm happy. But knowing that I'm going to be responsible for a whole new miniature human is…pretty overwhelming, too. I just hope to God I don't screw it up!"

"I'm sure you'll be amazing."

Joe chuckled. "Yeah. You would say that. You always figure things out- or you think you do, anyway. I'm not as sure of myself as you." He took another long sip and belched loudly, causing Spencer to laugh aloud.

"Very classy, Joe."

"What can I say- I wasn't raised with those same fancy Vegas manners you've got. I'm surprised my sister hasn't taught you to belch like a man yet."

"Not for lack of trying. She and Alex have a contest to see who's the loudest every time they open a can of soda, and I'm smart enough to know I can't compete with either of them."

"Yeah, I taught Chris well, didn't I?"

"I wasn't aware that was a point of pride with you, but alright."

"Oh, yeah. I'm also the one who taught her how to give Indian burns, wet willies and how to Dutch oven someone."

"Dutch oven?"

"That's where you fart in bed then pull the covers over the other person's head to force them to smell it."

"Now that's just disgusting!"

"I take it she's never done that one to you…"

"No! You know, I hate to say it Joe," Spencer said, taking a sip of his beer, "but maybe you're _not_ ready to be a father!"

"Not to a daughter, anyway!" They both laughed. After a moment, Joe asked, "So what's the deal with your coworker, anyway? Is this the cute little brunette that got shot? What? Don't give me that look! She is cute! Just because I'm getting married doesn't mean I don't have eyes…"

Spencer sighed. "Yeah, that's the one. She uh…she probably shouldn't have come back to work. Not this soon, anyway. She just wasn't ready to handle it all again."

Joe looked at him for a moment. "It's a hell of a job you do. I mean, God bless you- I couldn't do it, that's for damn sure. How you're all not completely fucked up is beyond me, with all the shit you guys see."

"Hey- can _you_ keep a secret from Chris for me?"

"Yeah, I guess…"

"Elle shot a suspect. Fatally. It just happened the day before yesterday. I…I'm going to tell her, but I'd rather do it myself, you know?"

"Don't you guys do that sort of thing, like, all the time?"

"You watch too many cop shows on TV. And no, we don't. Not unless there is imminent danger to ourselves or others."

"Still, it happens, I'm guessing…"

"Yes, but," he said, leaning forward, "we were trying to apprehend a serial rapist. We did not have probable cause to arrest this suspect-"

"Did he do it?" Joe interrupted.

Spencer paused for a moment and looked him in the eye before answering, "Yes. He did it. But that's not the point. Elle took it upon herself to confront him, alone. And in the course of that confrontation she shot and killed him. She claims it was self-defense, and I want to believe that, but…"

"But you think she was out gettin' her own justice."

"I think," Spencer said slowly, "that that is a distinct possibility, yes."

"Sounds to me like she did women everywhere one hell of a favor."

"That's not the point. It is not up to us to serve as judge, jury and executioner. Everyone is entitled by law to certain rights, and that includes us making arrests according to the law and ensuring that all those accused receive a fair trials! That's our system, and it's a good system- one I happen to believe in very strongly!"

"Dude, you don't need to school me in the Bill of Rights. I took fourth grade civics, too, you know."

"Yes, I know, but you see, upholding our justice system is my career. It is a system I am a part of, and something I believe in strongly enough that I am willing to risk my life to preserve it. I cannot do this job if I lose faith in the system, Joe!"

"And you're upset because you feel conflicted between your loyalty to the system and your loyalty to your coworker."

"To my friend," Spencer corrected softly.

"Spencer, you don't need to be. Conflicted, I mean. You can love and be loyal to a person without having to love everything about them. I mean, for God's sake, you love my sister, don't you? Don't tell me she never drives you crazy. And even if she were to come home and Dutch oven you tonight you'd still love her, wouldn't you?" They both laughed as Spencer nodded reluctantly. "I agree with you that we've got the best justice system we could hope for, but it's not perfect. And I've met Elle, even if it was only briefly. She seemed like a fine woman. But maybe the job doesn't mean the same thing anymore to her as it does to you. And that's okay, you know? Maybe it's just time for her to choose a different path than one with the FBI. Besides, aren't there usually inquiries after shootings?"

"Yes…"

"So let the powers that be do their jobs. And whatever happens, don't let it shake your faith in yourself and what _you_ do. You're not her. You're Spencer Reid, and that's a pretty damn fine thing to be."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate that," he said, watching Joe finish off the last of his beer. "Would you like another?"

"Nah," said Joe. "I'd better switch to pop. Still gotta drive yet tonight. But I still need to ask you something, Spencer," he called out to Spencer, who'd gone to the kitchen to get him a can of Coke.

"Oh?" he replied, handing him his drink. "What would that be?"

"It's the real reason I stopped by this afternoon. I was told to ask you if you'd accomplished the mission my sister gave you."

"You mean the dress?" he asked with a smile. "Yes, I bought it. I've even taken it to a tailor with her measurements to make sure it will fit perfectly."

"You're a brave man, Spinster. If Laurie had asked me to choose a dress for her to wear to a wedding, I'd have never agreed to it. Picking out clothes for a woman to wear sounds a lot like walking into a minefield to me. I know I'd choose something that would piss Laurie off for sure."

Spencer smiled. "It wasn't too bad. I don't hate shopping like she does, and I'm not unfamiliar with buying women's clothes. I've had to buy my mother's clothes for years."

"So no repeats of the Victoria's Secret fiasco?" Joe asked with a smirk.

"Of course she told you about that. No. I did not make a fool of myself this time."

"And just to be clear, she wanted-"

"Something that neither made her look like an old lady nor like she was late for a shift swinging on a pole at Spearmint Rhino," Spencer finished. "Yes, she made that very clear. It's both tasteful and lovely."

"And it's _not_ purple, right?"

Spencer looked at Joe for a long moment before admitting, "Okay, so it has some purple. But not a lot! She'll like it!"

"Oh…" Joe said ominously, "you're gonna be in trouble…"

"It'll be fine. She'll love it. Even if it is purple."

After chatting a bit longer, Joe stood and announced, "Well, I'd better get my ass back on the road. Come on, boy. Stand up." After Spencer had done as ordered, Joe put his arms around him. "Now, if I don't see you again before the wedding, wish me luck."

"Absolutely, Joe. I'm sure it'll be a wonderful wedding." He took a step back and added, "And you're going to be an incredible father."

Joe shook his head with a smile. "It still seems so unreal, you know? And you- you take care, too, alright? Whatever happens to Elle, remember- you're still the finest goddamned G-man out there. Never lose faith in that. You're a good man, Spencer."

"Thanks."

He walked Joe to the door and stood to watch as he drove away. After closing the door, he returned to his desk and picked up his pen again, finishing his letter to his mother with, _The case from which we just returned was a difficult one, and as there is yet an ongoing investigation, I regrettably cannot elaborate further. But please know that I am well and remain happy both in my work and at home. Autumn has always held a special charm for me, and this season is proving to be yet another one of change that is both beautiful and bittersweet. I lay my pen aside now wishing you all the best, trusting that you know I gratefully remain, as always,_

 _Your loving son,_

 _Spencer_

* * *

The following week they were called to investigate a serious of brutal child murders in Texas. Elle didn't join them on that case, nor did Hotch, who had presumably remained behind to deal with Elle. She had been cleared of any wrong doing in the shooting of the suspect in Ohio. Spencer tried to comfort himself at least in the knowledge that his friend would not be punished, and he tried to accept that, once Internal Affairs had declared the shooting justified, it was indeed so. But it was clear that Morgan and JJ thought she had, in fact, literally gotten away with murder. And it weighed on his heart and gnawed at a small part of his mind that this indeed had been the case. The thoughts chased one another in circles in his mind- had the system been wrong, or had Elle? Had both failed? Had neither? And what of the dead man? He'd violated women and ruined their lives. It was inexcusable. But he had been denied his rights under the law and been deprived of his life. Had that been fair and just? No, but no less fair and just than his crimes…

Spencer was thankful they kept busy throughout the day. The new case kept his mind occupied with less troublesome thoughts, for at least here the right and wrong were clear- there was a murderer at large, and he needed to be stopped. When night came, they all retired to their hotel rooms. Spencer sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, feeling suddenly wearied by thoughts of Elle again, now that all else was quiet. An idea came to him. He stood, put on his shoes and went out to knock on JJ's door. When she opened, he leaned towards her with a smile and said, "I have a proposal for you. May I come in?" JJ said nothing, but stepped aside and allowed him into her room. The door shut behind them, without either of them having noticed that Morgan had been standing at the end of the hall with some take-out food, having heard every word.

The next day, he and Morgan were walking through a possible suspect's home, and as they talked, Spencer found himself confiding in his friend his concern for Elle and his guilt over having not done more to help her, especially when he found her drinking along in her room in Ohio. "Is that why you were looking for some other kind of comfort last night, Reid? To sooth your conscience?" Morgan asked, one eyebrow raised.

"What? Are you saying you think _I've_ been drinking?" Spencer said indignantly. "Do I seem intoxicated to you now?"

"Hey kid, don't be getting up in my face like that! I _saw_ you last night going to JJ's room with that big ol' toothy grin of yours, and I _heard_ the two of you bumping around and giggling, playing all that romantic music. I'm not gonna judge you, man, but I will tell you to check yourself, because you've got a helluva good thing going on with that pretty little copper-top, and you're about to fuck it all up, if you haven't done so already!"

Spencer's mouth fell open and after staring at Morgan for a few seconds, he began to laugh uncontrollably. "Wait, so you thought…JJ and I…that we were…" he held up one finger to Morgan as he tried to catch his breath. "Oh, man. Don't tell Chris…not because we did any…I just want it to be surprise, you know? I mean, it was her idea, but…she has no idea I actually followed through with it…"

"Hey, I know hanky-panky when I hear it, kid…"

"No, Morgan," he said, still laughing, "you don't know. You really don't. Look," he turned and called out, "JJ?"

"Yeah?" came the answer from the other room. "I'm in here!"

They followed her voice to the living room where she was and sat down with her. "JJ, would you care to explain to Morgan what we were doing together last night in your room?"

JJ gave him a look of mild irritation and said, "Well, I still have no idea what _you_ were trying to do, but I know _I_ was attempting to teach you how to dance."

"I wasn't that bad, was I?" Spencer asked.

JJ held out her feet. "You're the whole reason I'm sitting out here with my shoes off!"

"I only stepped on the one foot…" he mumbled.

"Yes, but you stepped on it three times, Spence!"

"Wait wait wait wait wait," Morgan interrupted. "So I heard all that last night, and all it was, was you two dancing?"

"Yes," Spencer said, "well, trying to, anyway… See, Chris' brother is getting married the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and when I expressed concern that I may not be able to dance with her at the reception, she told me to ask JJ to teach me because she's built like a dancer."

"She said that?" JJ asked.

"Yes. She said you had the build and grace of someone with formal dance training, and she was right."

"Aw, that's sweet of her to say!"

"But why didn't you ask _me_ to teach you some moves, Reid?" Morgan said, smiling. "You know I know how to impress the ladies!"

"No. She explicitly forbade me from asking you. She said you have moves that one can only be born with, and that the only way I'd ever even think I could replicate any of them would be after I'd taken liberal advantage of the open bar, and the result would be me making a drunken ass of myself on the dance floor. So JJ is teaching me to waltz instead."

"Come on," Morgan laugh, "who the hell waltzes at a wedding anymore?"

"I don't know. I've haven't been to one since I was a small child. But if they do play a waltz, I'm going to be ready!"

* * *

When they returned, they learned that Elle had quit the Bureau. Spencer was sorry to learn of his friend's departure, and though he resolved himself to be happy for her no matter what career path she chose, it hurt him that she had left without giving him an opportunity to say goodbye.

* * *

A few weeks later, Spencer, Morgan, JJ and Garcia were all surprised to learn a replacement had been found for Elle- Hotch had never given them any indication he'd even been interviewing for the position. For his part, Spencer was wary of her; it seemed to be too soon to replace Elle while he was still mourning her loss. But soon a case came up that required him to travel with Gideon and the new Agent Prentiss to Guantanamo Bay to interview a detainee, and in this capacity she proved herself to be an invaluable asset to the team. As the three of them returned to Quantico after the conclusion of the case, she and Spencer engaged in small talk aboard the jet that turned rather friendly, when he asked, "Do you have many friends or family in the DC area?"

"Just my mother, but we're not particularly close. And you?"

"I'm from Vegas, which is where my mother still lives. I presume my father is still in that area, though we haven't spoken in many years."

"I'm so sorry," she said, sympathetically. "Will you be visiting your mother for Thanksgiving, or will she come visit you?"

"Neither, actually. Do you and your mother have any plans to celebrate?"

"No. As I said, we're not very close. I'll probably just stay home and eat a turkey sandwich," she said with a slight smile.

"If that's the case, Emily, you're very welcome to come to dinner with me, if you'd like. My girlfriend's an excellent cook and we certainly have enough room…"

"Oh, well…she probably has all the food bought by now. She wouldn't be very happy if you invited extra guests at this point, I'm sure."

"Nonsense," Gideon interjected. "If Christine is expecting 20 people, she'll be preparing enough food for twice that many." He looked up from his book and said to Prentiss, "And she is a gracious hostess as well as an excellent cook. You really should accept that invitation."

"Still no chance that you'll come, sir?" Spencer asked Gideon.

"I have previous plans. But give my best to Christine anyway, please."

"Of course. Well," Spencer said, "would you like directions to our home tomorrow?"

Prentiss shrugged her shoulders slightly and said, "Sure. Why not? Sounds nice. Thank you, Dr. Reid."

"Oh, and Reid?" Gideon said. "Don't tell her what Christine does for a living. See if she can figure it out on her own. Then we'll know how good of a profiler Agent Prentiss really is."

* * *

As the three of them walked into the BAU back at Quantico, they were greeted with peals of laughter. Morgan, JJ, Garcia and Alex were standing around Spencer's desk, and though she couldn't be seen behind them, Christine's voice was unmistakable. "I shit you not," she exclaimed, "that man threw a fucking _bomb_ in my swimming pool! I was in the kitchen when I heard him yell, 'Release the kraken!' And the next thing I knew there was a boom and water hit all the windows in the kitchen. That pool is a good 25' from the house! That's what kind of havoc he wreaked! In my brand new swimming pool! There he is there- the Mad Bomber! See that smile on his face? He's proud of it!"

"Well, dear, Alex asked if it was true that I could make a bomb out of dry ice and water. I was only offering her a simple science lesson," Spencer explained with a smile.

"It's true," Alex said. "I did ask him that, because I saw it in a video on YouTube. And it was awesome!"

"Yes it was. Besides, it's fall now and you were planning to drain the pool anyway. Christine," Spencer said, "may I ask a simple question?"

"What's that?"

"Why are you wearing that mask?" The mask in question was of a shark's head with the jaws open so that she could peer out from between them.

"It's called Shark Weeking like a _boss_ , baby!"

"Shark Week was in July," he retorted.

"Yeah, but they're re-airing it this week, which means tonight we're gonna have megalodon goin' on, bitches! Whoo!" She took a sip of the slushie she'd set down to leave rings on his desk and gestured to Prentiss. "So who's this? Elle 2.0?"

"I'm Agent Emily Prentiss, ma'am," she said extending her hand.

"Uh-huh," Christine replied, eyeing her. She held up a finger and said, "Just a sec." She turned and called out to Hotch, who was trying to escape the office without being noticed, "Aaron! Come here! I need a word with you!"

Hotch stopped, closed his eyes for a moment, breathed deeply and stepped towards them, saying, "Ms. Arcangeli, might I ask how security allowed you up here wearing that ridiculous mask?"

"What, this? That was easy- I told them you said I could. Seriously. I told them I had permission from Aaron Hotchner with the BAU, and that if they had any problems with it they should call you to verify. Apparently, they're all scared of your general curmudgeonliness, too, because they just waved me on through. Seriously, though- do I really strike you as someone who poses any kind of threat here?"

"Miss, the only threats you pose are to common decency, respectability and possibly to Dr. Reid's sanity."

Christine laughed loudly and held up her hand, which Hotch high-fived. "That's what I like to hear! But back to my point, I have an issue now and would like to register a complaint with the management of this establishment."

"I'm listening," Hotch said.

"Your hiring practices strike me as questionable at best and possibly even discriminatory."

"Discriminatory?" asked Hotch. "Against whom?"

"Against those of us with average, ordinary looks. I mean, come on- Elle was adorable, but then you replaced her with this one?" she said, hooking her thumb at Prentiss. "She looks like she came straight off a runway. She's even got nicer tits than the last one, and let's be honest- that was the one thing I had going for me in the looks department. And don't you look so surprised to hear me say it, Sparky! I know you've noticed. If you hadn't, I'd say we needed to take you in to get your testosterone levels checked. How is that supposed to make me feel, knowing my boyfriend is surrounded constantly with women who are far better looking than I, hmm?"

"Christine, I doubt there is anyone who has met you who would describe you as either average or ordinary, but perhaps that is a discussion you should be having with Dr. Reid in private. And I can attest that Agent Prentiss has proven she is more than qualified for this position. However, if you care to address the issue with my superior, her name is Erin Strauss, and I see she is still in her office. As for me, I'm leaving now to spend Thanksgiving with my family."

"Will we be seeing you tomorrow?" Christine asked as he started to walk away.

"Not if I can help it," Hotch replied.

"You know your wife brought her pies over to my place already, right?"

Hotch stopped and turned. "Well, maybe we'll stop by after dinner for a slice."

"Bitchin'." Christine turned back to the rest of them. "Seriously, though, Emily. You're fucking gorgeous. I'm jealous. Spencer, did you invite her?"

"Yes, ma'am," Prentiss answered, surprised that her new colleague's significant other appeared to be a much more interesting sort of woman than she had expected him to have found. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Awesome. Derek, have fun freezing your ass off in Chi-town. Try not to get shot. And I guess we'll see the rest of you tomorrow, right? Dinner's at 2:00, come early if you want, and afterwards we'll have pie, football, and then probably get hammered and sing karaoke, 'cause I've got a machine now!"

As she, Spencer and Alex got up to leave, they all watched as Christine reached out to grab Spencer's behind. While the other's chuckled and shook their heads, Emily stood wondering how the shy, polite Dr. Reid had wound up a girlfriend like that, and what kind job she had that Gideon had been so cryptic about.

* * *

A/N

The Bears are a professional football team from Chicago, for whom the Arcangelis persist in rooting despite the fact that they haven't won an NFL championship since Superbowl XX, held on January 26, 1986. Go Bears. Rawr.

The first episode referenced in this chapter is "The Aftermath," followed by "The Boogeyman." The latter originally aired October 25, 2006 and took place in Ozona, Texas. This episode was the last one in which the character of Elle Greenaway appeared. She did not assist with that case, but rather remained behind at Quantico, as did Hotch. At the end of the episode, she surrendered her gun and badge to Hotch, effectively quitting the FBI.

Spearmint Rhino is the name of a chain of strip clubs.

If JJ appeared to Christine to be a dancer, it's because AJ Cook, the actress who portrays her, actually is an accomplished dancer.

Emily Prentiss first appears in "The Last Word," which aired November 15, 2006, and if the rest of the team was surprised at her addition to the team because they were unaware Hotch had been interviewing for Elle's replacement, it's because he hadn't been. The show reveals that Hotch was blindsided by Prentiss' appointment to the BAU, though no one else on the team except Gideon was made aware of this. Her first case was in "Lessons Learned." In this episode, while part of the team remains behind to stop a terrorist plot on US soil, Gideon and Reid travel to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, to the detention facility there to interview a detainee. Prentiss is sent along with them and serves a vital roll in gathering information due to her Arab language skills.

While it is possible to build a bomb out of dry ice and water, it is dangerous to do so, and is even illegal in some states in America. Please do not attempt to do so at home. You stand a far better chance of injuring yourself than you do of ever "releasing the kraken". Seriously. Don't do it.


	23. Chapter 23

As soon as Prentiss got into the car with JJ and Garcia, Garcia asked her, "Is that what you're wearing? I mean, don't get me wrong, you look beautiful. I'm just worried you may be a teensy bit overdressed for the occasion."

Prentiss looked down at herself. She was wearing smart black trousers with a gray sweater, simple black pumps and a small string of pearls. "Too much? You think? I assumed that for the holiday I should…"

"Yeah, you might want to change," JJ suggested. "If we're going to be spending the day at Christine's house, well…things have a tendency to get messy when she's around. That's why I'm in jeans and Garcia's got sneakers."

"What…what exactly do you think she'll do- or have us do?"

"It's hard to say, but I wouldn't even be surprised to find she'd made dozens of cream pies just for us to throw at one another after dinner," JJ replied. Noticing Emily's sudden look of alarm, she added, "and no, I'm not kidding."

"Oh. My. God. Could you just imagine?" Garcia exclaimed. "I could totally see her setting that up! But then, how would we clean up? You don't think she'd make Alex hose us all down outside again, do you? It's really cold out! She wouldn't do that to us- would she?"

"You never quite know what she's going to do or say, Garcia. That's my point," JJ answered.

"Okay," Prentiss said with some trepidation. "I suppose I'll run back upstairs and put on something…more casual, I guess."

"Oh! And bring some slippers, unless you want to spend the day barefoot. Alex will never let you on her floors with shoes on!" Garcia said, as Prentiss got back out of the car.

* * *

As they drove to Christine's home, Prentiss said, "So, I guess I have a lot of questions before we get there…"

"We're not supposed to tell you what Christine does for a living," JJ said. "Gideon already told us to see if you could figure it out on your own. But once you do, trust me- it'll all make sense."

"Okay…well, how about this. Who exactly is Alex?"

"Oh! She's the little blonde girl that was with Christine yesterday," Garcia answered. "You'll like her. She's super nice. She's a little shy, unless you try to mess up her floors, and then she turns really bossy, even to Chris."

"She's technically Christine's 'personal assistant,'" JJ explained. "She pretty much runs her errands, cleans house, manages her schedule, things like that, I guess. She lives with Reid and Chris, which sounds a little weird until you see how big the house is."

"Oh my god, and she has the cutest little kitty ever, too!" Garcia gushed.

"Well, Spud is hardly a little kitten. He's a full-grown cat, and from what I hear he's kind of weird, too," JJ said.

Garcia laughed excitedly, "One time, Chris and Alex brought Spud, litter box and all, right into the BAU. JJ, remember the look on Hotch's face when she did that?"

"It was priceless. It's really weird, though. Chris acts like she purposely tries to push Hotch's buttons, and she'll even insult him right to his face, but for some reason he lets her get away with it."

"I know, right? She's like the only person in the world who can get him to take a joke…"

"Garcia!" JJ warned.

"Oh! Sorry! Anyway, here we are!" Garcia said, in a rather unsubtle attempt to change the subject. She turned down the long, tree-lined driveway and commented, "Gee, it looks a little spooky now that all the leaves have fallen, doesn't it? And here we are!"

They parked close to the house near a few other cars and when they got out and walked up to the veranda, they saw Christine sitting in one of the chairs, her head back and eyes closed. As they came up the steps she opened her eyes and sat up. "So what is that, Penny? A '65?"

"Ooh, you're good! That's a 1965 Eldorado- how'd you know?"

"I recognized the sound of that engine. My old man has a '68 DeVille. They put a bigger engine in it that year, but damn- a 7 liter V-8 will still get 'er done, won't it? Now, normally I'd say it was a damned shame to paint a fine vehicle like that orange, but you are one of the few people I know capable of making that color look good." She stood up and stretched.

"You're not tired of all the cooking already, are you? That's why we came early to help…" JJ said.

"Who me? Nah," Christine said. "I've cooked for a crowd before. But I've had the oven on for hours and there's about 20 lbs of potatoes boiling in there now, so the kitchen is so hot that Alex and I were sweating like a couple of French whores in there. I just needed to cool off a bit. Hey- thanks for coming Emily," she added as they stepped in the door.

"No, thank you for the invitation," she replied, looking around. "You have a beautiful home!"

"Well, it's a helluva money pit, but it's home. Come on- let me introduce you to everyone."

In the parlor a football game was on and being intently watched by a small crowd. "Hey, y'all! Listen up! We've got some new arrivals! These are Charlie's Angels, here- we've got Penny, Jennifer and Emily. They work with Spencer. Y'all know Grant down there from the office. That's my brother Wes," she said, pointing him out, "his wife Jenny is…somewhere around here. She's sweet. You'll like her. That's their daughter Emmy, which is actually short for Mary Esther, but no one calls her that, the three gingers are James, Andrew and Peter, and don't bother remembering which one is which because no one can tell them apart and they'll all probably switch shirts later just to mess with you anyway, the little guy is Noah, and Hanna is…probably being chased by Jenny as we speak, right? That's Diana over there," she said, gesturing to the very petite, very pregnant young Asian lady in the armchair. "Now, don't let her scare you. Because even though she's really tiny and tough and can probably beat the snot out of any one of you, underneath that hard, kimchi flavored outer shell she's actually full of sweet, squishy gumdrops and sunshine."

"Don't listen to Special A there. You should always be afraid of a pregnant woman, especially when she's got a psychopath like Chris around to irritate her," Diana said.

"Aw, do hear that? She's so full of love today, she's just gotta spread it around! Her little girl, Sarah, is around here, too…probably with Hanna somewhere. And then there's Alex in the kitchen, and Spencer should be back in a bit; we sent him out on a beer run." Turning back to the three ladies, she said, "And that's it for now. I've got a few other people coming by later for desert, but why don't I give Emily here the grand tour while you two make yourselves a home?"

As Christine and Emily walked up the stairs, she said, "Now, I've heard Jason challenged you to play a little game with me, which is cool. So I figured you'd like to have a look around. Shouldn't be too hard for you to solve the mystery. I think the others just get a kick out of the idea of someone like him being involved with someone who does what I do." At the top of the stairs, Christine started to head left down the hallway and quickly turned and headed the opposite direction, saying, "What the hell, let's go check out Alex's room, first. She won't mind."

Standing in Alex's room, Emily began to scan the walls silently. "Go ahead. Do your thinking out loud," Christine urged. "I'm dying to know what you think. And don't worry about nosing through her things. She won't mind."

"She's a sweet girl, isn't she?" Emily began. "Everything's pink and yellow and perfectly in order. Fresh flowers. Aw, who's this?" she asked, picking up a framed picture.

"That's her and her grandma. And of course, that's Cinderella in the middle. I had a break from my work, so I took the opportunity to come home and see Spencer, and she took her grandma to Disney World. It was the first time her grandma had ever been on a plane. Hell, it was the first time she had even left Illinois in nearly 30 years."

"So you travel a lot for work?" Emily asked, turning around.

"Absolutely."

"How old is Alex?"

"21."

"Interesting. The way she's arranged all the pictures here around her mirror and on the walls…the magazines…the plush toys…they make it look like this room belongs to a 13 year old, not a grown woman."

"Hey, as a favor to me, don't bring that up to her. Ever- okay? Suffice it to say, Alex had a shitty childhood. So if she likes to surround herself with things that make her feel happy and innocent, it's all right with me, no matter how much I hate the color pink."

"Well, whatever has happened in her life, she considers herself lucky to have you," Emily said, looking at her pictures again. "You're not just her boss, you're her protector, her big sister, and her best friend…"

"I'm the lucky one. Everyone should be so lucky as to have someone like Alex in their life," Christine replied simply.

"Aw, and she has a cat! Isn't he the cutest?"

"Oh, geez! That's Spud. He's around somewhere, too. He's a real pain in the ass, but she loves that goofy furball. Ready for my room?"

"Sure," as she followed Christine down the hall, she asked, "So where are you from?"

"Usually I just tell people I'm from Chicago," Christine replied.

"I'm no expert, but that is definitely _not_ a Chicago accent."

"Eh, if youse want me to talk like I'm from over by dere, I'll fuckin' talk like I'm from over by dere," Christine said. "How's that? Sound a little more convincing?"

Emily laughed. "Definitely. But seriously…"

"Hampshire, Illinois. It's in a cornfield about 70 northwest of the city. Which is why I normally sound like a redneck. But I studied some at U of C, which is actually how I met Diana- I was a TA for a history class she took her freshman year. We became friends, and later when I went to Georgetown, she was already studying there. We were roommates for a while, and I was even her maid of honor at her wedding a few years ago."

"And where's her husband?"

"Korea. His aunt passed away, and she's too far along in her pregnancy to travel that far. And that exchange between us earlier- that's just how we talk. I push her buttons and she threatens to kick my ass. She's actually really nice. Really tough, and super smart, but very nice. So…this is our room. Closet is over there. Go ahead and inspect anything you want. Except that top drawer there. That's Sparky's underwear, so…"

"Thanks for the warning," she said with a laugh as Christine sat down on the bed. She walked into the closet and said, "Whoa."

"Yeah. Didn't expect that, did you?"

"Not really, no. I don't think I've ever met a couple where he had more clothes than her, let alone this many more…"

"More shoes, too. And did you check out the ties? Now _that's_ a collection…"

"What's in the garment bag here?"

"A dress. My brother- not Wes, the other one- is getting married the day after tomorrow."

"Mind if I look?"

"Knock yourself out."

"Oh, wow. It's beautiful! You have excellent taste!"

"Yes I do, but not in clothes- in men. Spencer picked that out. I wasn't even present when he bought it."

Emily came out of the closet and looked at Christine. "Why on earth would you let him do that?"

"Let him? I begged him to do it. I hate shopping for clothes."

"But most women love it. Particularly women who have the means to buy whatever clothes they want."

Christine smiled. "And what makes you think I'm most women? Besides, stores cater to pretty women, women like JJ who are tall and slender. They're the women clothes are made for. And you, you're a little curvier, but still tall and slim. Me? Nothing looks good on me. So I just stick with what's comfortable."

"So, you have a job that requires you to travel frequently, and your employer doesn't care how you dress or requires you to wear a uniform…" Emily said pensively.

"I'm self-employed. Jeans and t-shirts _are_ my uniform."

"So your clients don't care how you dress."

"Oh, some do. Some tell me flat-out I'm ugly. And I tell them not to let the door hit them in the ass on the way out." When Emily then picked up a framed picture from the nightstand, Christine said, "Just so you know, that's Spencer's side of the bed. So if you want to kinda fuck with his mind, be sure to put it back down exactly where it was, and then turn it a little."

Emily looked up. "Do you do that much? Mess with his head, I mean?"

"Not so much anymore. We've reached a truce- he hates anything that isn't tidy according to his obsessive standards, and I hate when he gets into my things, especially in my office, and tries to impose his unnatural level of hyper-organization upon my own system of organized chaos. So we have certain unspoken no-fly zones within this house. My office is mine, the library is mostly his, and there are invisible lines running down the center of this room and the closet. It is kinda cute, though, to see him get all flustered by things that are just ever so slightly out of whack. You know," she said slyly, "I've devised the perfect way to get out of doing dishes when Alex isn't around. If it's just the two of us, all I have to do is get him turned on as soon as dinner is done. Then we come running up here, have our bit of fun, and afterwards I let him think he was just such a stud that I'm completely worn out and I fall off to sleep immediately. But him, he can't sleep knowing that there're still dishes downstairs that need to be washed, so he gets up to go do them without me. I get sex _and_ a man to clean my kitchen. It's awesome."

Emily laughed. "You are one sneaky woman!"

"Yes, I am," Christine grinned. "And it doesn't take much to get his motor running. All I have to do is eat a banana or lick an ice cream cone in just the right way and then we're off to the races."

Emily shook her head and continued to laugh. "I think that can turn on almost any man when done properly. I guess I just never expected that Dr. Reid…well, I guess I don't know what I expected, really."

"You didn't expect that underneath all those layers of shirts and sweaters and ties and titles and degrees that he'd be just as horny as any other red-blooded 25 year old man. But he is. In that respect, he is completely and totally normal. So, ready to move on to my office?"

"In a moment," Emily said, looking around the room. "Who decorated this room?"

"Me. Well, I didn't so much decorate as I did chose furniture and window treatments that I felt were in keeping with the character of the home."

"Interesting. You claim not to care about clothing, but you've chosen to furnish your bedroom very tastefully, even elegantly- most of the furniture is either rather expensive antiques or high-quality reproductions. Does the fireplace work?"

"Wouldn't be much sense to not keep it in working order."

"And then there's the TV. Who watches it?"

"Me. If Spencer ever watches it, I'm not aware of it."

"And what do you watch?"

"Oh," Christine said with a shrug, "in the morning I have on the news while I'm getting ready. In the evening, if Spencer's not home, I'll sometimes just hang out here with my laptop and watch whatever at the same time. There're only a few shows I'm really into right now. My favorite is probably House."

"That's the one with the brilliant, drug-addict doctor, right?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Christine said with a sudden grin. "Casting Hugh Laurie to play the lead was an abso-fucking-lutely brilliant move! That show would be way too dark if they didn't have a comedian playing him."

"He's a comedian?"

"Yeah. What- you didn't know that? He's one half of Fry and Laurie, the British duo. They're amazing! You really should check out some of their old videos online. Genius!"

"He's British, too? You're kidding."

"Not at all. He's so convincing with his American accent that when you hear him speak with his native accent, it doesn't even sound real. Quite an accomplished musician, too. Now _there's_ a man with some fucking talent, right there!"

"Huh. I never knew…"

"Well, now you do. So, on to the office? Cool, follow me!"

When they set entered Christine's office, Emily remarked, "Ah. Now here's where you really express your personality, isn't it?" On the walls were posters of Jimi Hendrix burning a guitar, Pete Townshend smashing a guitar, Janis Joplin laughing with feathers in her hair, and Johnny Cash extending his middle finger for the camera. There were also a few framed photographs that appeared to be autographed, and a number of framed degrees. Emily looked over the degrees first and said quietly, "Oh…my…god. _Now_ I get it."

"Get what?"

"I get the attraction. Between you and Dr. Reid, that is. You're…well, you're his equal."

"Ya think?" Christine said with one eyebrow raised. "Yeah, well, I think that's what confounded your colleagues at first, too. I'm not pretty, I don't dress nicely, I curse like a drunken sailor and I don't seem to have proper manners. But at least I'm not an idiot, and he respects that."

"That's not what I meant," Emily said, frowning. "I meant-"

"Oooh, Sparky's back!" Christine exclaimed, looking out the window. "I'm going to go back downstairs now. The potatoes should be just about ready to mash, and the bird's about to come out of the oven, which means it's gravy making time. So you go ahead and hang out here. Dinner will be on the table at 2:00 as promised. One thing, though- don't look in that center drawer there on my desk. It's got some items that will be dead giveaways what my job is, and that's just cheating, there."

With that, Christine was out of the room and down the hall. Emily followed her to the top of the stairs and looked down into the entryway as Christine greeted the returning Spencer with a kiss on the cheek and a long hug. She smiled. She was already fond of the shy, polite, brilliant young agent, and it was heart-warming to see him happy in his home life. Christine must have said something to him, because he turned his face up to see her and waved. Christine smiled up at her, too, and said something else to Spencer that caused him to laugh and call out, "Good luck!" Emily nodded, smiled and returned to the office to finish her survey of the room.

A short while later Emily joined most of the others in the parlor and was surprised to find Spencer cheering along with the others over the football game. Taking the beer that Agent Anderson handed her, she remarked on this, to which Spencer responded, without taking his eyes off the game, "Yes, well, I wasn't much of a sports fan at all in the past, but there are certain things one needs to learn to appreciate in order to get along with this family…"

"You're a wise man, Spencer. That's why we like you," Wes commented.

"Yep. I'm smart enough to know that when conquered one must choose to either assimilate or face annihilation," Spencer replied.

"That's the spirit," Wes said.

Emily was quiet until the commercial break when she turned to Spencer and asked, "Say, I was wondering- what's the deal with-"

Just then Christine entered the room with a potato masher in hand saying, "Alright- which of you gentlemen wants to prove his manhood to me by mashing the potatoes?" After everyone pointed their fingers at Anderson, who had pointed his finger at Noah, she handed the masher and told him, "Get on in there and be quick about it. Nobody can eat until those potatoes are ready! What are the rest of you men laughing at? I need you guys to bring in that folding table I bought and set it up for the kids in here. Jamie, Andy and Petey, I need you boys to set the table after Noah puts on the tablecloth and placemats. Everything's in the dining room on the sideboard. Come on now- chop chop!"

"Hey," one of the older boys protested. "How come Emmy doesn't have to do anything?"

"Someone's gotta make sure you guys get it right. You're labor, she's management. Get to it."

After a mildly sarcastic chorus of, "Yes, Drill Sargeant!" Christine said to Wes, "You've taught them well," and started to leave.

The men were all standing to complete their tasks when two little girls came running red-faced and giggling into the room, chasing one another. The one with strawberry-blonde hair ran straight into Spencer's legs. He bent down and said to her with his arms outstretched, "Hi, Hannah! Good to see you again! Can I have a hug?"

Hannah took a step back, and without missing a beat cried, "You'll never take me alive, copper!"

Spencer stood up and pointed an accusing finger at Christine while the others laughed. "Don't blame me!" she said. "I didn't teach her that!"

"No," complained Wes, "all you've been busy doing is teaching my daughter is how to cuss!"

"I have not!" she shot back. "That was just a…a geography lesson." She nudged Spencer with her elbow and said, "Check it out. Hannah, tell Uncle Spencer the joke Auntie taught you."

The little girl grinned and said, "Knock knock!"

Spencer smiled back and said, "Who's there?"

"Amsterdam!"

"Amsterdam who?"

"Amsterdam tired of knock knock jokes!"

Spencer put his hand over his mouth to hide his smile while Wes said, "See? You heard it! Your woman's teaching my child to cuss!"

"No, I'm not!" said Christine.

"Well," Spencer said, still smiling, "I agree with Wes, Chris. It is a rather age-inappropriate joke for a four year old to be telling."

"And you're part of the problem," continued Wes, pointing at Spencer. "If you didn't laugh at it, she wouldn't do it! You're only encouraging her! We don't need another one like Chris in this family!"

JJ stood up and said, "Hey, anything we can help with?"

"Sure. You ladies follow me. Everything's pretty much ready- I just need a few hands to help get it all to the table. Penny, you can do the honor of carving the turkey!"

Garcia stopped and stood with a horrified look on her face. "But…you know I'm a vegetarian! I can't even eat meat- how can I cut up a innocent little birdie?"

"First, it's all ready dead. Second, it's not exactly little. And furthermore, how do you know it was so innocent? For all you know, that turkey could have been a real asshole who just got what was coming to him! Oh my god, I'm sorry!" Christine said, hugging Garcia. "Please don't cry! You know I was only joking, right? You know I'd never make you touch meat, don't you? Shhh sh sh…come on. Can you work a bottle opener? Yeah? Okay. Then you're going to be my sommelier today, alright? All you have to do is pick out the wine and open it. Come on now, and I'll show you all the delicious Korean things Diana made vegetarian just for you…"

* * *

After they tables were set and Wes said grace, Christine said, "Praise God and pass the potatoes! Incidentally, Grant, awesome job on those! Not lumpy at all. Now, let's start by…no, Wesley! You may _not_ just grab things willy-nilly! What are you, some kind of heathen? Take a dish and pass it clock-wise! Jennifer, those yams seem to have stalled out down there by you- keep 'em moving. Penny, do you see the butter for those rolls there, anywhere? Who's job was it to get the danged butter? Oh, for Christ's sake, you people…oh. Sorry! Here it is, right in front of me! Alex, put a vegetable on your plate! Don't worry about the gravy, people! There's plenty more in the kitchen. No! Sparky, don't you touch that drumstick! Jenny already got one, and the pregnant lady gets the other. You'll just have to take a wing and be happy with it. Diana, Jenny's asking how hot the kimchi is? Not too bad? Right on. She makes that stuff herself, you know. Try the japchae, too. It's outstanding. Emily, did you get the rolls? Eat a roll, dear. Carbs don't count on holidays. Penny, we need another bottle opened. Oh! You've already got it! Hooray for you! You're the awesomest."

"Hey, Chris," Wes said. "Less talking, more eating!"

"Well, I just wanna make sure everyone gets fed…"

"Whatever you say, Grandma," he replied with a smirk. "Don't look at me like that! You sound just like her."

Christine rolled her eyes and leaned over to talk to Emily, who was seated to the other side of Spencer. "You got enough to eat down there, sweet face?"

Emily set down her glass of wine and nodded. "Yes, plenty. And thank you- it's delicious. You certainly know how to make quite a feast!"

"Aw, thanks. See, I'm a little bit Italian, a little bit British, and a whole lot German. Now, I don't know what you know about Germans, but I'll tell you this- we may not be real good at telling people we love them, but we get around that by showing them with how much we feed them!"

"Is that why Spencer's so skinny?" Diana asked with a grin.

"Hey now- I'll have you know this man eats like a hog. It's just his metabolism!"

"Ah, she's just saying that now," Spencer said, making a sad face. "She never feeds unless others are around to see it."

"Oh- oh really, Spencer?" Christine exclaimed. " _Oh really?!_ Are you seriously gonna play that game with me right now? Alright. That's cool. Then why don't _you_ tell them what happened to the last key lime pie I made, hmm?" Spencer blushed and looked at her sheepishly. "No? You don't wanna tell them? Why? Are you _ashamed_ of what happened to that pie? Yeah, you should be. Because I made a freaking amazing pie, and after I put it in the fridge to cool, I went out to run some errands. And where was that pie when I got back?"

Spencer mumbled something, and Christine said, "What dear? What's that? Did you say it was in your belly? Yeah, because after I left, you and Joe cut out one little piece for Alex and decided to go ham on the rest of it, didn't you? That's right. And not one of you thought to save a slice for me!"

"Hey, you never told us you wanted any…" Spencer laughed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Christine shot back.

"Hey! Language!" Wes interjected. "There're kids in the next room!"

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Christine said, correcting herself. "I made the gosh-danged, flipping, mother-loving pie, dude! Why? Because I wanted to eat it!"

"Maybe you should have left a note with it then," he replied, still chuckling.

"Maybe you should have used your fancy FBI powers to understand and predict human behavior to deduce that I wanted a taste of the pie I made! Speaking of which- Emily, we all know you've been tasked with trying to profile me, so tell us, what have you learned? Have you figured out what I do for a living?"

Emily took another sip of wine, cleared her throat and began, "Well, I know you're self employed in a field that requires regular travel but does not require that you maintain a traditional professional appearance and which either forces or allows you to keep odd hours. You keep abreast of current events through both TV and print media and you seem to have strong opinions about everything. Then I saw the degrees on your wall, which, incidentally, were quite impressive. Now, for most people I'd guess that the most recent degree would indicate one's career path. But if you were that simple to figure out, Agent Gideon would never have suggested this exercise. So I decided to focus on your earliest degree, assuming that was your first love and true passion. Now, history would suggest you're either an author or a professor, but again that seemed too obvious. So then I tried to figure out what history and geology shared in common. While I was thinking about that, I was also looking at the autographed photos you had on your wall, which are clearly important to you. Now, Neil Armstrong I recognized, but the other one was a mystery to me. I couldn't understand why an autographed mug shot of some hippie would be so important to you, and the only part of the signature I could make out were the initials GC. And it didn't really hit me until I heard the joke you taught your niece. The thing that historians and geologists have in common is that both, ultimately, tell stories, right? They tell the stories of people's lives and of the world in which they live. You like House less for the medical mystery aspect than for the fact that the lead actor is a comedian. And then I realized that the man in the mug shot was a young George Carlin, probably from the time he was arrested on obscenity charges. He's your hero, isn't he?"

"One of several, yes," Christine said with a smile.

"So that's what the rest of the team members find so surprising about you- that the quiet and serious Dr. Reid has a girlfriend who's career is so very different from his. I mean, come on- what could be more different from an FBI agent than a comedian? Am I right?"

"Is that your final answer?" Christine asked.

"That's my final answer."

"Well folks," Christine said, looking around the table. "You've heard the lady. How did she do?"

Wes looked at Emily and said, "Well, as much as it pains me to admit, yes. My sister is a professional smart ass."

"Well done, Agent Prentiss. You are as wise as you are beautiful. Spencer was right- you're going to be one hell of an asset to the BAU, and they're damned lucky to have you. Cheers!" Christine added, raising her glass.

* * *

After dinner was finished and the table was cleared, the guests staggered into the parlor to chat, laugh, and doze off in front of another football game while Alex, Christine and Diana finished the dishes. A few hours later, after everyone had a chance to digest, pies, cookies and coffee were brought out and a few neighbors stopped in for desert and a drink. Soon there was another knock on the door, which Alex answered and ushered in the Hotchner family.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away from your wife's pecan pie, Aaron," Christine said, handing him a glass of bourbon.

"Thank you, and no, I couldn't. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. So- how did Agent Prentiss do with her assignment?"

"She passed with flying colors, sir," JJ replied.

"Excellent. I'm very glad to hear it."

Eventually Hotch fell into conversation with Wes, who had moved to the area a few weeks before after being appointed the new commander of the Marine Corp Air Facilities at Quantico. Haley chatted with Diana after learning she was a pediatrician, and the two sat with Jack between them so Diana could look him over a praise him, assuaging all the mother's fears. The other children were ordered outside until nightfall while the rest laughed as Christine eventually hauled out the karaoke machine and goaded them one by one into singing with her. By 8:00pm, after another round of turkey sandwiches and other leftovers, guests started to leave until by 10:00 they were all gone. Spencer and Christine brought the last of the glasses and dishes into the kitchen, after which Alex urged the both of them to get some rest, insisting on finishing the last of the dishes herself.

Alone in their room, they laid down on their bed fully clothed. Christine put her arms around Spencer and said, "Well, that was a nice little party, wasn't it?"

"Yes, very. Thank you. It's been a long time since I've had a nice family Thanksgiving like that, and this one was perfect, even if the family was unconventional."

"Emily's sharp."

"Yes. Yes, I think she'll be a great member of the team."

"She can sing, too. And what she lacked in vocal prowess, she sure made up for in attitude! That was one hell of a Joan Jett impression she did tonight!"

He smiled. "Yeah, but Garcia was pretty impressive herself singing…what did she sing?"

"ABBA. They're an old Swedish group. It's not a true karaoke party until someone breaks out the 'Waterloo', you know."

"My favorite was Hotch and Diana singing that number from The Sound of Music."

"Oh my God! They were actually awesome together, weren't they? It's amazing what a few stiff drinks can do to that man. He kind of got a little human tonight. Almost, anyway…"

"Yeah, but no one could touch you on Queen, baby doll."

"I know. I'm almost Freddy Mercury-level cool, aren't I? Not quite, but I'm getting there!"

Spencer laughed. "Oh sure, absolutely. Who would have ever thought I'd be the guy to end up dating the coolest girl in town?"

Christine laughed with him. "And you'll never guess what happened to Alex today…"

"Oh? What would that be?

"Grant asked her for her phone number."

Spencer looked at her. "Why on earth would he need Alex's phone number? I can't imagine there'd be a time when he needed to contact me that I wasn't either with the team or available on my own cell phone…"

She tickled him in the ribs. "Seriously, dude? You can't think of any reason he'd want to speak with Alex privately? Think really hard about this, now…"

"No, I really can't. I…" he paused for a moment and said slowly, "oh wait. Do you think…? No. Anderson and Alex? Is he…? You mean…?"

"I think maybe you've had one too many glasses of wine, sweetheart. You're a little slow on the uptake tonight."

"Does he want to _date_ her?"

Christine sat up and nodded at him. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure that was the implication, yes."

Spencer sat up too, looking a little dumbfounded. "Well, what did she say?"

"Oh, she gave him her number but also told him she just came off a really bad breakup and wasn't ready to date again."

"Well, she didn't exactly _just_ break up with Brandon. It's been a couple of years now, and when she did try to break up with him, he…" he stopped and looked at Christine. "You know what he did to her."

"I do. And I think she's been dealing with it all very well in therapy. She's certainly more confident around others."

"Maybe she should do it. I mean, what harm could come of it? I don't know him terribly well, but he has a good job, he's a decent, hardworking, intelligent young man…I'm sure he would treat her very respectfully."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. But think about it- if the two of them didn't work out, it might make things really uncomfortable for you at the office."

"I can't imagine how…"

Christine sighed and rolled her eyes at him. "Then you _really_ don't know about how office politics are played, do you? It's not always about trying to get someone else's job, you know. Sometimes it's just about people getting their panties in a bunch over stupid, personal shit."

"I can't imagine that happening with us. We're both professionals."

"Damn. Maybe you don't know all that much about human behavior after all!"

"Perhaps I don't if it's not criminal behavior." He kissed Christine on the forehead and said, "So, have you tried it on yet?"

"Tried what on?"

"You know what."

"Oh that? No…"

"Why not? Don't you like it?"

"It's very pretty. I just don't know if it will look as nice on _me_."

"Well," he said, sitting up. "There's one way to find out, you know."

"Ohhh…"

"Go on. I'd like to see you in it. At least let's make sure it fits, okay?"

"Oh, alright…" she said, getting up and going to the closet. A few moments later she emerged in the dress he'd bought her and asked, "Zip me up?"

He obliged and when she turned around he smiled and said, "So? What do you think?"

She walked over to the mirror and looked up and down at herself. The dress was pewter gray with a soft sheen, fitted through the waist and hips before falling in graceful folds to the floor. The neckline was accented with a band of violet velvet, which went around her shoulders and met in the back in a bow with streamers that reached almost to her knees. She turned from one side to the other, examining herself with a strange look of consternation on her face. He stood and went over to her. "Don't you like it?"

"No, I…I like it. It just…doesn't look like me, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…I don't think I recognize myself. It's…it's a very pretty dress, Spencer. It's beautiful."

He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "You're wrong. The dress is immaterial. It's the lady wearing it who's beautiful." She said nothing but continued to stare at her own reflection until he said, "Hey, I have a surprise for you! Want to know what it is?"

"Sure, why not?"

He went over to the stereo and queued up a song. "I was going to wait until the wedding to show you, but I don't know if they'll be playing this sort of music Saturday. Anyway, I took your advice and asked JJ to teach me to dance."

"You're kidding!"

"I'm completely serious. Here, watch this," he said, and started the music.

Christine smiled broadly when she recognized the tune. He held out his hand to her, which she took and began to move with him. "Hey, you're pretty good!"

"Hush," he teased. "I'm trying to count. What? What is it?" he asked when he saw her looking at him strangely.

"Nothing, just…I'm confused. How did a crazy goof like me end up with someone as incredible as you?"

He bent his head down so that their foreheads touched. "Maybe what you call crazy, I just consider beautiful, dear."

She leaned in closer to him and rested her head against his chest as they danced. "Now _that's_ a crazy thing to say. But I love you for it, Spencer. I really do."

He held her tighter and said, "I love you, too, Christine."

* * *

A/N

A special thanks to the reader of this story- she knows who she is- who assisted me in determining the specific model and year of Garcia's Cadillac.

Americans would know this, but for all of you reading this who may be overseas, there are certain things that all Thanksgiving dinners have- roast turkey, pumpkin pie, and college football games. Haley made pecan pies- they're a true southern treat. Christine would have provided the pumpkin ones, as well as a see apple or cherry pies for those who prefer fruit to custard.

If you don't know who George Carlin is, you should. In 1972, he released and album entitled _Class Clown_ which ended with a piece called, "The Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television." Carlin was later arrested in Milwaukee on obscenity charges for performing this routine. Eventually the case against him was dismissed because, while the seven words were considered "indecent", they were being used for humorous purposes and not to cause a disturbance.

The MCAF, which in this story Wes is appointed to lead, is an actual unit based at the Quantico Marine Corps Base. They are primarily tasked with providing support for Marine Corps One. As many may know, Air Force One is the official air traffic control sign for any plane carrying the President of the United States. Except in extraordinary situations, this aircraft is a specially equipped Boeing VC-25. Marine Corps One is the call sign of a helicopter providing transport for the President, which is currently typically either a VH-3D Sea King or a VH-60N White Hawk. The unit currently consists of 800 Marines who maintain and operate approximately 35 aircraft that are also used to transport the POTUS and other members of the President's cabinet, as well as foreign dignitaries, and is under the command of a USMC Lt. Colonel, which is Wes' rank at this point in the story.


	24. Chapter 24

"So, how did you manage to score tickets to the game, Chris?" Laurie asked as they took their seats for the flight to Chicago.

"Eh, I know a guy…" she replied with a smile.

Spencer leaned over and added, "Which is to day, she met a fan after a show that she decided to flirt with and ply with alcohol after learning his company had seats available in their corporate suite."

"Hey! You say that like it's a bad thing. Besides, it was Joe's idea," Christine laughed.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Laurie said, eyeing her new husband. "Say, Spencer- have you ever been to a pro football game before?"

"Just once, and it wasn't a Bears game, so I've been informed it sucked," he replied.

"Hear that? He's teachable!" Christine said. "Is it any wonder I love him?"

"So tell me," Spencer asked, "what's the big deal about getting seats in a suite? It seems to me that it would be more desirable to have seats closer to the field, not farther away."

"No, trust me. It's a big deal," Christine said. "First of all, you're indoors, which, when you consider how badly the weather in Chicago can suck this time of year, is a definite plus. And of course there's the superior view of the field, which is unobstructed by the rest of the unwashed masses in the stands. But most of all, there is free, all you can eat gourmet food and an open bar available, which makes it the ultimate game-day party, am I right guys?"

Laurie said, "Oh yeah. I am definitely down for the food, Chris, but I'll have to skip the booze this time around."

"Oh? Why- are you still trying to dry out after partying a little too hard on your honeymoon?" Christine asked with a smirk.

"No, it's not that. It's just…right now is not a good time for me to be drinking, that's all." Laurie smiled at Joe and held his hand.

Christine watched their faces and slowly said, "Whoa. Wait. What? Are you…? Holy shit. Are you serious? Joseph! Have you gone and knocked this girl up already?" Joe merely smiled broadly back at her. "Well, I'll be damned! Congratulations, you two! Any idea yet when you're due?"

"Yeah," Laurie said. "Right on the 4th of July!"

Christine opened her mouth again, but was prevented from saying anything by the flight attendants announcing their imminent departure. After they were airborne, Christine turned to Spencer and whispered, "Now, I'm not the one with the math degree, so correct me if I'm wrong, but if she's due in early July, then she was already pregnant when they married!"

"Oh? Really? I hadn't thought of it, but now that you mention it, yes, that does sound correct."

Christine looked at Spencer for a moment and exclaimed, "Oh my God! You _knew_ about this! How could you know about this and not tell me!?"

"Shh," Spencer said with a smile, glancing across the aisle to see if she'd been heard. "He…he told me just after he found out himself. He needed someone to talk to, and he didn't want your mother to find out!"

"You could have to _me_ ," she whispered back. "I could have kept that secret!"

"Really, Chris? You wouldn't have even told Alex, or Melanie, or one of your cousins?"

Christine pouted for a bit and admitted, "You're probably right…"

"And they would have told just one person, and then that person would have told one more…"

"Oh, hush. And wipe that sanctimonious smirk off your face. I hate it when you're right," she complained, crossing her arms and sinking back into her seat.

"But it's still good news, right?"

"Well, of course it's good news! For them anyway. I mean, Joe will be an awesome dad and Laurie…well, she's just a living saint…and of course I'll be the most epically cool aunt ever…" she left her words hanging and sat pensively, staring at the seat in front of her.

"Okay. So tell me. What's wrong now?"

"It's just…damn. I never imagined losing Joe. Not so soon, anyway."

"Losing him? How on earth will you be losing him?" Spencer said, laughing.

"Well, I've got a big tour coming up. You know I've been trying to get off the college circuit and book more theater gigs. We've already got dates scheduled into June. He can't be there, not if he's got a baby coming. He needs to be at home for that! And even after the baby's born- he can't be on the road with me all the time. He's gotta be at home, taking care of that boy!"

"Or girl," Spencer added.

"God forbid."

"What's wrong with girls? Can't you just see him with a sweet, pretty little daughter?"

"Bah. What _isn't_ wrong with girls? Girls are crazy. Even I don't understand girls, and I _am_ one!"

"Oh, now _you're_ the crazy one!" Spencer said, shaking his head.

"I'm serious. Boys are easy to raise. If boys get mad at one another, they just punch each other and go right back to being friends. Girls get upset if someone simply looks at them wrong, or wears the same outfit, or some stupid shit like that. Then they get all nasty and catty and won't talk to each other and hold grudges for _years_ and no one knows why. Boys just make more sense."

"You're ridiculous. Girls are lovely. They bring beauty and grace into the world. They're the flowers in life's garden. Boys are more like the skunks in that garden."

Christine laughed. "I think I might have to poach that line from you, sweetheart. I love it!"

* * *

The next day, they all gathered at Grandma and Grandpa Pete's house after leaving the game to celebrate Christmas, albeit a week early. As the were walking into the house, Christine pulled two Santa hats out of her bag of presents and handed one to Spencer with instructions to put it on.

"Do I really have to wear this?" Spencer complained. "I mean, I'm happy they won, but isn't a Chicago Bears Santa hat a bit much?"

"A bit much? Hey, man- we've just clinched a trip to the playoffs! We are on our way to the Superbowl, baby! Woohoo!"

"I can't believe the whole family rescheduled Christmas just so we could go to a game."

"Hey, it wasn't just for the four of us. My cousin Jake and his girlfriend Erin also came into town for this game, but those poor suckers had to sit down in the cheap seats with Bill and Melly."

When he stepped into the living room, however, his self-consciousness over the ridiculous hat he'd been forced to wear evaporated; almost everyone in the room was wearing something Bears related, and whereas the previous year he'd been the target of some good-natured teasing over his mismatched socks, this year he received only praise for wearing one orange and one navy.

After greeting everyone, Spencer sat down in a chair next to Grandpa, who ordered Christine to bring both him and Spencer drinks. As he sat and chatted with the older man about their trip to Wisconsin, his work, and the photographs he'd been dutifully sending to him, Spencer watched the interactions of the others in the room. Christine's cousin Sarah was there with a new boyfriend of whom her aunt and uncle seemed to be none too fond. Jake and Erin were regaling Wes, Cori's husband Kevin and their cousin Matt with details of the previous day's game. Children seemed to be everywhere at once, climbing on furniture and people and generally making a tremendous racket, while adults both laughed at and chided them for spoiling their appetites with cookies. He watched with a mixture of irritation and bemusement as Christine tried to admire the new baby in Cori's arms only to have the latter ignore her as if she'd not been heard. Christine turned and rolled her eyes at Spencer and mouthed the word, "unbelievable," after being given the cold shoulder, then stooped down to listen to some story Cori's eldest daughter Kylie had to tell her.

Soon they were all called to the dining room. After they were all seated, Melanie went from person to person, filling up their wine glasses until she reached Laurie, who covered her glass and said simply, "Just water for me now, thanks."

The adults within earshot all stopped talking and turned to look questioningly at her, prompting Joe to announce, "Hey, everybody, guess what? I'm going to be a father!"

While the rest cheered and congratulated them both, Christine's mother said, with a twinge of disappointment in her voice, "Oh, so soon?"

"So soon?" Joe laughed. "Mom, I'm 31 now! How much longer should we have waited to start?"

"I know," she said. "But I don't think you realize, Joseph, how hard it is to raise a child. They can drive you crazy, you know!"  
"Glad to be of service with that, Mother!" Christine called to her mother from the other end of the table.

After the laughter and well-wishes had died down, Cori pretended to mutter to herself just loud enough for the others at their end of the table to hear, "I'll never understand why some people think they can raise a child when they don't even have a home."

Spencer glanced at Laurie and Joe, noticing how the blood seemed to immediate drain from Laurie's face while Joe's turned red with anger. He opened his mouth to unleash his rage when Patsy leaned over and hissed in a low voice, "Shame on you. If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Now, go over to and see to your children- Danny can't seem to cut his beef."

They watched Cori get up and go over to the children's table, then Patsy turned to Joe and said, "Just let it go. She's just mad that she didn't get to go with you guys to the game, so she had to try and make herself superior in someway- as if having a house instead of an apartment is something to be proud of."

"Everything okay down there?" Melanie called from the other end of the table.

"We're just talking about how much we love the prime rib, Melly!" Christine called back.

Melanie's husband Bill answered, "Yeah, this one's from Marie- we had her butchered a few months back."

All the siblings and cousins giggled and Christine explained to Spencer, "They name their best animals after family members, so it seems as though we're eating Mom for dinner this year. Sounds a little perverse, but I can assure you this beef is a whole helluva lot better than the mock chicken legs we had to choke down as kids."

The others all groaned at the memory. "I don't know what Grandma did to those things, but no amount of gravy could hide how nasty they were," Joe said.

"So what is a mock chicken leg, anyway?" Spencer asked.

After receiving answers all around him like "cardboard," "compressed sawdust," and "untreated lumber," Patsy answered, "They were baked, breaded, skewered chunks of pork and veal."

"And no amount of over-salted gravy could hide how bland and dry they were," Christine added. "God bless her, she can bake cookies like an angel, but those mock chicken legs were the devil's work. Kinda like her scalloped corn." Christine made a face and shivered as if horrified.

"I don't care what you say," Sarah said, finally speaking up. "I love Grandma's corn!"

"She's right, you know," Spencer agreed. "I like it, too!"

Christine looked over at his plate, only now noticing the offending casserole on it. "Good Lord, how can you eat that? That looks like what people leave on the sidewalk outside the bar after they've been drinking too much tequila!"

Hearing all her grandchildren groan at the other end of the table, Grandma called down to them, "Is everything alright down there?"

"Yes, Grandma!" Sarah answered. "I was just saying how great the corn was!"

"Well, I just had to make it because I know how much you kids like it," Grandma answered with a smile.

"Hear that?" Spencer said, slapping a large spoonful of it on to Christine's plate. "Now behave yourself and eat it because your grandmother made it for you."

"So how's work been going for you, Spencer?" Kevin asked. "You keeping busy chasing psychos?"

"Yes, always. There's more of them out there than you'd care to know. In fact, we were just in Chicago this week on a case," he answered.

"So what- you just stayed in town until these three showed up?"

"No, actually I flew back to Virginia for a day, repacked all my things, and came back," Spencer replied.

"There was a serial killer in Chicago?" Kevin asked. "How come I never heard about that?"

"Well, initially we were called to assist the CPD when one of our agents was arrested for homicide."

"Some guy you _work with_ is a serial killer?" Kevin exclaimed. "Dude, that's messed up!"

"No no no. He was innocent. But we _did_ catch the real murderer. He turned out to be the leader of a neighborhood community center, which perhaps is even more messed up…"

"Hey, speaking of messed up," Jake said, as Cori came back to the table, "I heard the girl you hired testified against that asshole ex of hers. He was convicted, right?"

"Absolutely," Christine answered. "We were there again at his sentencing. That girl had some kind of guts to stare him down in court. I couldn't have been prouder!"

"So what are you saying," Cori said, "that abuse victims who are too scared to testify aren't worthy of respect? That they're not good enough for you?"

"What?" Christine said, confused. "I said nothing like that!"

"That's what it sounded like to me," she said.

"No, not at all. No one deserves to get hurt by someone else, and everyone who is hurt deserves respect. But I was proud of Alex because I know how hard it was for her to do and she did it anyway. It was her own triumph, and I think that's pretty cool."

"Whatever," Cori said bitterly.

"Yeah," Christine replied, exasperated. "Whatever…"

"Sooo…," Patsy began, trying to get the conversation back on track, "I heard you guys had pretty good seats for the game!"

"Oh my god, like you wouldn't believe! We had a party going on up there!" Christine replied.

* * *

Later they exchanged gifts, and Spencer received one that made him wonder. It was a set of bookends from Cori that she'd made herself. "That started out as some driftwood I found up to Door County," she explained, "and when I heard you'd gone up there, I thought of you, that you might like them as a memento or something." They were beautifully done, and carved with a floral pattern that must have taken her quite some time to finish. To Christine, of course, she gave nothing.

* * *

Tuesday Spencer went back to work. When Morgan strode in a short time later, he said, "Hey, Pretty Boy! Missed you yesterday- where were you?"

"I was out of town, meeting new people and learning new things," Spencer replied without looking up from the case file he was studying. "For example, I learned a lot about Super Bowl XX. Do you know anything about Super Bowl XX, Morgan?"

"Of course I do," Morgan replied, sitting down at his desk. "What do _you_ know about the '85 Bears?"

"All sorts of things. For example, I know they beat the Patriots by a score of 46-10. I know the game was played in New Orleans at the Superdome. And I also know that is was only the second Super Bowl ever played in which a member of the defensive line was named MVP. Incidentally, he sends his best," Spencer said, turning around and smiling at Morgan.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Morgan asked, confused.

"It means," Spencer said, leaning over to fish something out of his messenger bag, "that I believe you're going to have to step up your workout routine, because even though he's considerably older than you, he's in phenomenal shape."

He held out a photograph for Morgan to see. Morgan took it, looked at it and said, "No. No way, man. When the hell did you get your picture taken with Richard Dent?"

"Sunday," Spencer replied, as nonchalantly as possible. "Chris got us seats in one of their executive suites and he just happened to come by to greet us all. It was kinda cool…"

"So wait- I went to my hometown last week to see my momma for her birthday and I get arrested on suspicion of murder, then you went there again a few days later to see _my_ favorite football team play and meet one of _my_ childhood heroes?" Morgan shook his head. "There is no justice in this world. None!"

"Oh no!" Garcia exclaimed, walking up to them. "What's wrong, my pet? Has something gone wrong? Please tell me there is not something terrible going on in this season of joy, because if there is mischief afoot I'm having none of it! We're only days away from Christmas and I don't want to miss Santa delivering you to me with a big red bow on your head this year, because I've been a very good girl!"

"The only one here on the naughty list this year is Reid, Baby Girl," Morgan said. "He got to go see the Bears secure a spot in the playoffs without even asking me if I wanted to go with, and now he's sitting over there gloating about it. Look at him!"

"Bears- that's basketball, right?"

"Football," answered both men, simultaneously.

"Dammit! So close!" Garcia said.

"Anyway, Morgan, I wasn't aware you'd becoming back here so soon," Spencer said, changing the subject. "Don't you usually spend it with your family?"

"Yeah, but not this year. After what happened last week I just needed to get the hell out of that place. Momma understood."

"Ooh! So that means you can come to the thing with us, then! Reid, tell him about the thing," Garcia urged.  
"We're having brunch at our place on Christmas morning. You're welcome to come, but you have to let me know one way or the other, because we have to draw names for the gift exchange."

"What? But there's hardly any time left to…oh, why not. Sure. Count me in, I guess."

"Great. You were the last one." Reid scribbled his name on a slip of paper, which he folded and put in a small box. Holding it out for them, he said, "Alright. Go ahead. Pick one."

They did so, and then Reid called to Hotch, who had come down for coffee, and urged him to do the same. Drawing his paper out, Hotch took one glance at it and said, "What is this- some kind of joke?"

"I think we know who just got Christine's name," Prentiss said, standing up and coming over to get one.  
"No. It's not her," Hotch said sourly.

"Then I know who's name you did get, then, and no. It's not a joke," Spencer said with a smile.

* * *

Spencer laid on his back in bed with his eyes closed, smiling in the dark. As his tried to slow his breathing, Christine snuggled up to him and kissed his cheek. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart," she whispered.

He sighed and put an arm around her. "A very merry Christmas, indeed!" he agreed, and kissed her back. He began to drift off to sleep. Some time later, he was roused from his slumber by a sound. He reached over to find Christine was not in the bed beside him. He fumbled on the nightstand for his glasses, put them on, and sat up to see a light coming from under the door of the closet. He got up and went over to the door just as Christine was coming out, redressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. "What's up? Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said with a smile, turning off the light. "You and Alex just did such a wonderful job decorating the place that I thought it would be nice to sleep downstairs in front of the tree on Christmas Eve."

Spencer stood for a moment scratching his head and yawning, still groggy with sleep. "Won't it be rather chilly down there?"

"Not if I light a fire in the fireplace! Besides, I went and bought a pair of fancy sleeping bags. Might as well start using them- Lord only knows when I'll be able to get you to go camping with me!"

"Wait," he said, going into the closet and putting on his pajamas. "I'll come with you."

They got the sleeping bags from the linen closet down the hall and crept downstairs to the parlor. Spencer and Alex _had_ done a beautiful job decorating. The lights that ran all across the veranda and wound up the columns outside could be seen through the curtains, and the lights on the enormous tree they'd selected twinkled within, their light reflecting off the hundreds of glass ornaments with which they'd painstakingly decorated it. It was lovely in a lit room, and positively magical in the dark.

As soon as they entered the room, however, they discovered they were not alone. Alex sat up on the sofa and asked, "Hey, what are you two doing down here?"

"The same as you, I think," Christine replied, going to build a fire in the fireplace as Spencer laid out their sleeping bags on the floor.

"You can't light that," Alex complained. "Santa won't be able to come down the chimney if there's a fire in it."

"Don't worry, there's three other fireplaces, silly. I'm sure he'll find another way in. Maybe you should move your milk and cookies to the library to lure him in that way," Christine said with a chuckle, turning to wink at Spencer.

"Yeah, but the stockings are all in here, duh!" Alex replied, sticking her tongue out at Christine.

"So is the tree, so he'll have to come in here eventually, anyway. But he won't come as long as we're all awake, so hush!" Christine teased.

All three of them settled down, but not one of them fell asleep immediately. Eventually Alex spoke. "You know what would be cool right now? We should tell ghost stories."

"We can't tell ghost stories on Christmas Eve!" Christine said.

"Why not?" Alex replied.

"I don't know, but it sounds kinda sacrilegious to me, and I think I'm already on pretty shaky ground with God."

"Nonsense," Spencer said. "I'm with Alex. I like ghost stories."

"Sheesh. Don't you get enough creepy shit at work?"

"Hey, that reminds me of a case we had a few months ago!"

"Please don't," Christine said.

"No," Alex said, "don't listen to her! Tell us the story!"

"Sorry, dear, but it's two against one," Spencer told Christine before beginning his story in his best ghost story telling voice. "Many years ago, in a small town in Texas, a man lived in a big house on a hill. One day, his wife disappeared and was never heard from again. No trace of her was ever found, so no one could prove he'd murdered her. But the man grew old, watching the town's children every day from his house on the hill, waiting for his next victim. One day, a little boy's body was found in the woods near the man's home, his head smashed in. And then another body was found, and my team went to investigate. We went to the old man's home to interview him, but all we found in his home were the heads of all the animals he'd killed, hanging from his walls."

"Spencer, I think you're scaring Spud," Alex said, pulling her cat close to her chest.

"While we were still in town, another young boy went missing. We thought surely the old man must have him, but then we found the old man in the forest, dead. So who took the little boy?"

"Who was it?" asked Alex weakly.

"No one, actually. The little boy had gotten scared by the stories of the old man on the hill and hid. We found him alive and well," Spencer said.

"But what about the other kids and his wife?" asked Chris.

"It seems his wife had left him for another man and he'd spent all those years watching longingly for her return. The actual murderer was someone else entirely."

"Oh, why you…" Christine elbowed him. "You had us going there!"

Spencer chuckled. "The truth was rather creepy, though, if you must know- the suspect we did apprehend was a 10 year old boy with likely intermittent explosive disorder. And the scariest part? He was a ginger, dear, just like you."

She nudged him again and said, "Well, okay, I've got a scary but true story, too. In my high school there were two Mr. Olsons- one was the shop teacher, and the other was the English teacher. Now, Mr. Olson The Shop Teacher was cool and everyone liked him, including, legend has it, a number of the female teachers. Mr. Olson The English Teacher, on the other hand, was all kinds of sketchy. It was said that he had this habit of becoming particularly clumsy on days when the cheerleaders wore their uniforms to school- he'd always drop his pencil on the floor at their feet in order to have an excuse to look up their skirts, or so we imagined. Then one day, he had told the remedial seniors' English class- which consisted of, like, 10 guys, a combination of stoners and jocks- that the reason he and his wife couldn't have biological children and instead had become foster parents is because he was impotent. And then he told them, 'But let's just keep this between us, okay boys?' So naturally the entire school was calling him Limpy Olson by end of the day."

"You're kidding," Spencer said.

"I am dead serious."

"Ew," said Alex. "That's just…ew!"

"I agree," Christine continued, "but it gets worse. And I mean, like, way worse. Because years later I thought about all those old stories we'd tell about him, and I thought, 'Did we just imagine all that? Every time he leaned over some girl's shoulder to look at her work, was he really actually doing it to look down her blouse like we said, or were was that all just in our heads?' I thought it had to be something we made up, because how could a man teach for that long in one school without ever getting caught, right? And I mean, that guy was there for more than 30 years! Then this past summer I got a large envelope in the mail. There was no return address, and inside was a copy of the local newspaper with a note on it that just said, 'Read page 3.' It was my sister Cori's handwriting. Now, she and I don't get along. She will hardly even talk to me when we're together. I was like, 'What the fuck,' you know? So I open it up, and there's a mug shot of Ol' Limpy under the headline, 'Retired Teacher Arrested For Child Molestation.' Guess who his victim was? His own foster daughter. He'd been molesting her for years, starting when she was just 13 years old. So, not only were we right about him, but everything I learned about creative writing, I learned from a fucking pedophile. How's that for scary?"

"Whoa…that is…so wrong…" Alex said. "Damn. Glad I didn't go to Hampshire High."

Spencer sat up. "Actually, as disturbing and disgusting as this is, it doesn't entirely surprise me. There are certain professions individuals like that are drawn to, and there are certain instincts we all have, even as children, that should be trusted. So please, just be careful, ladies, alright?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Now lay back down. Santa won't come unless we're all asleep."

"I don't think I'm going to be getting a lot of sleep tonight," Alex whined.

"Hey, it was your guys' idea to tell ghost stories tonight. So I wish you both sweet dreams as visions of murderers and pedophiles dance through your heads." They all wished one another good night and a merry Christmas, and Christine curled up on her side to sleep. Spencer lay with his eyes open staring up and thinking for a moment, before rolling over to put his arm safely around her as Spud crept over to curl up at his feet.

* * *

When Hotch pulled up to the house the next morning he surmised from the number of cars in front that he was the last to arrive. He picked up the package on the seat next to him, muttered, "ridiculous," to himself, and went to the door. When he rang the doorbell, he heard voices calling to him to come in, that the door was open, and he entered to find the others in the dining room finishing their meal. He placed the package under the tree with the rest and joined them at the table. When Alex got up to offer him a plate, he waved his hand and said, "No, but thank you. I've already eaten."

"Can I get you something to drink then, Aaron?" Christine asked. "Coffee or a mimosa?"

"Just coffee, please."

"So Hotch, no wife and kid today?" Morgan asked.

"No, we've already opened gifts and Haley stayed home so Jack could play with his new toys, although he seemed more excited to play with the boxes and ribbons than his actual gifts. Thank you," he added, as Christine set a cup in front of him. He poured in some cream, took a sip and said, "Wow, that's got a kick to it!"

"Thought I'd Irish it up a little for you. You look like you could use a little something to put a smile on your face this morning," Christine said with a smile.

"Thanks, but then this will have to be my limit," he said. "I've got to be back on the road home again soon."

"Of course you should. You should be at home making memories with that boy," she answered. "It was good of you to come, though. I've fixed a pan of cinnamon rolls for you to take back to them. My grandma's recipe- you'll love them."

"Yeah, Hotch. You've really gotta try them," JJ said, licking frosting off her fingertips. "They're amazing!"

"I'm sure they're delicious," Hotch replied.

They could all sense from Hotch's demeanor that he was anxious. Indeed, he was. Haley had made no secret of her displeasure when he told her he'd be joining the rest of the team that morning, and he'd promised to make his stay as brief as possible. They all made a point to finish their plates as quickly as possible, and once the table had been cleared, they all moved together to the parlor. As they got comfortable, Garcia asked no one in particular, "Where's Anderson? Doesn't he usually come to these shindigs?"

"Oh, he's in Montana with his family right now," Alex answered.

Several of the others stopped and stared at her. "He told you this?" Garcia asked.

"Oh, yeah, well, he mentioned it once, you know…a little while ago…" Alex blushed when she saw everyone staring at her.

"Is that where he's from?" asked JJ.

"Yeah. You know, like…near Billings, I guess…"

"No, I didn't know," JJ said with a grin. "I don't think any of really know much about him at all…"

"Alright, Alex," Christine said, saving her. "You get to be the present monkey today, so start passing them out!"

"Really, Boss? You can't just say elf like a normal person?" she retorted.

"Hush, Monkey Girl. Get crackin'! Who's first?"

Alex rummaged around under the tree and pulled out a large box wrapped in paper with Disney princesses on it. She handed it to JJ with a smile, who announced, "Oh, this one's from Alex!" She unwrapped it and lifted off the lid. "Oh, how nice! A hat and scarf!"

"I made them myself," Alex said, beaming.

"Really? They're so soft! Thank you!"

"Yeah, I wanted to make mittens, too, but I don't know how to make mittens yet. Look underneath!"

JJ lifted everything up and found a photograph underneath. It had been taken at the Memorial Day cookout, and showed herself and Alex with their arms around one another's shoulders, laughing and covered in mud. The frame had flowers and hearts all around it and one word: "Friends". She stared at it for moment, grinning and said, "I love it, Alex. It's perfect. I'm going to put it on my desk and look at it every day."

"I'm glad you like it. Who's next?" Alex asked.

"Ooh! See that purple sparkly one there, Alex?" Garcia excitedly. "Get that one out!"

Alex found the package and handed it to Christine. She looked at the tag and read aloud, "To Chris, From your fellow traveler along the Yellow Brick Road, Penelope. Aw!" She struggled with the many layers of silver and gold ribbons before asking, "Hey, any of you boys have a pocket knife on you? Thanks, Jason," she added, and cut it open. "Damn fine wrapping job, by the way, Penny!" Once she had the package open, she gasped. "Oh…my…God. Where on earth did you find these? They're incredible!" She held up a pair of socks shaped like sharks. "Words cannot even describe how epically awesome these are! Thank you!"

A few more gifts were exchanged, admired, and passed around for everyone to see. Then Alex pulled out from under the tree a flat box with plain, glossy red paper and a green bow. "Hey, look, Spud! You got one, too!" she cooed to the cat sitting at Spencer's feet. "And it's from Uncle Aaron. Want to see what it is?" At the sound of his name, Spud got up and went over to sniff the package and paw at the bow. Opening the box she said, "Ooh, homemade kittie treats! You must have been a very good boy this year. Yes you were! You were a very good kitty, yes!"

"Wait, what?" Morgan said, laughing. "If Hotch gave Spud a gift, who got one from the cat?"

"I did, earlier this morning," Spencer said with a smile. "I got a scarf, a picture of Spud and I, and a mug that says, '#1 Cat Dad.'"

"Sounds like Spud had some help shopping," Garcia laughed.

"And knitting," Spencer added, "unless he's somehow recently developed opposable thumbs."

Alex stuck her tongue out at them and handed a box to Jason. It had been inexpertly wrapped in a couple pages of newspaper- the comics pages- and had a large red bow stuck in the middle. As he read the tag, Christine piped up, "Wrapped it myself. And I didn't even use duct tape, this time!"

"That's only because I stopped and forced you to use the clear stuff like a regular person!" Alex pointed out.

Gideon said nothing but smiled and unwrapped the box. His eyes grew wide as he turned it over. "A working scale model of a stationary steam engine. How on earth…"

"It says some assembly required, but it's actually got quite a bit of assembly required. But basically you fill up the boiler, light one of the fuel pellets, and wait until steam starts coming out of the stack. Then you can engage the flywheel, blow the little whistle, the whole bit. There's even a little generator you can buy and attach to the wheel with a belt and use it to charge up your cell phone. Spencer mentioned you liked trains, so when I saw it, I thought of you!" Christine said.

Gideon giggled like a little boy. "I've never heard of anything like that! That'll be a brilliant little project to build. Thank you!"

"Alright," Alex said, looking back under the tree. "Who hasn't gotten one yet?"

"You haven't," Prentiss said. "Get that little silver one to your left."

"Oh, yay! It's from Emily!" She ripped off the paper, opened the small box and cried, "Oh, its soooo pretty!" She held up a necklace with heart-shaped pendant that cradled an emerald within its bottom point. "I love it!"

"Well," said Emily, "it seemed to me that every Irish princess should have her own emeralds."

Alex jumped up and went over to throw her arms around her. She handed the necklace to Emily and turned, saying, "Will you put it on me?"

As Alex held her hair up, Emily said, "You know, emeralds symbolize love, peace, healing and good luck. I hope this brings you all of them, Alex."

Alex stood for a moment fingering the pendant. "It's the prettiest thing I've ever owned," she said softly.

"Come here, sweet pea," Christine said. "Let me see that." She looked it over for a moment and said slowly, "That is just gorgeous…" Alex went over to show it off to Garcia and JJ while Christine glanced at Emily and gave her a slight nod. Emily smiled shyly, knowing that Christine had seen immediately that the gem was real, and that it was clearly valuable.

"So, that's it, right? I think we've got them all, right?" Christine said suddenly.

"Whoa. Wait. Hold on, now," Morgan objected. "I think we've been saving the best for last, right? Where's mine?"

"I don't know, who had Derek's name?" Alex asked.

"Dammit!" Spencer said. "That would have been me! Oh, sorry, Morgan- I must have forgotten!"

"Bullshit, Reid," Morgan laughed. "You never forget anything. Hand it over, kid!"

Spencer laughed and said, "Okay, well, for this I'm going to need you and Hotch to switch seats. Come on- just trust me guys. You'll understand in a minute." After they'd moved, Reid pulled a package from behind the tree and set it on Morgan's lap, and placed a smaller package on top of it. "Merry Christmas, Morgan!"

"My God! What's in here- lead bricks?" He unwrapped the smaller package and said, "O…kay…it's a remote. For what?" After he unwrapped the other package, he stared at the large wooden cube and said, "Alright, Reid. You got me. What the hell is it- the world's largest jack-in-the-box?"

"Okay, now wait there and don't move," Spencer replied, picking it up and carrying it across the room. He opened a panel at the back of the box, pulled out a cord, and plugged it into the wall. After adjusting the position of the box slightly, he smiled and said, "Okay. Now, raised your right hand about shoulder high and press the button on the remote."

Morgan did so, and the top of the box opened and shot something across the room, right into Morgan's raised hand. "What!" he exclaimed, looking at the can of beer he'd just caught. "It's even cold! Where did you find that?"

"I made it! Christine showed me a video online of someone who'd built one, and it was pretty easy after that to figure out how it was built. It'll hold a six-pack of cans and keep them cold. I'll come over to your apartment sometime to calibrate it for you, but once it's set up, you won't ever have to miss another play while you're watching a game!"

Morgan laughed loudly, and said, "Now _that's_ what I'm talking about! I knew that engineering degree of yours would come in handy some day, kid! Come here, man," he added, pulling Reid into a hug. "Merry Christmas!"

* * *

After they were finished exchanging gifts, Hotch excused himself and put on his coat to leave. Christine followed him on to the veranda. "Hey, Aaron. Don't forget the rolls. And here's a little something for Haley and Jack," she said, handing him the pan of pastries and two gift bags. "Thanks for coming, and I hope you all have a great rest of your day."

"Thank you. I wish I could stay longer, but…"

"No, no you don't wish that. You're glad you can go home to your family now, or at least you should be, and you don't have to apologize to anyone for that."

A hint of a smile crossed his lips and he sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if the problem is that there aren't enough hours in the day for me to do everything I need to, or if there simply enough me's to go around."

"Oh, the problem definitely is with the latter. I think the whole world would be better off if there were a few more Aaron Hotchners in it. But there's not, so, you'd better go and be the most important Aaron you can be right now."

He nodded. "Merry Christmas, Christine."

"You, too, Aaron. And hey- if Haley is still pissed you came over here, then tell her it's all my fault, and she should call and yell at me. It's okay," she said with a smile. "I'm tough. I can take it."

* * *

A/N

In case the timeline is a little confusing, this chapter begins on December 16, 2006.

Richard Dent played defensive end for the Chicago Bears and was named Most Valuable Player of Super Bowl XX

The first episode referenced is "Profiler, Profiled," which originally aired December 13, 2006.

The second episode mentioned is "The Boogeyman," which originally aired October 25, 2006.


	25. Chapter 25

Spencer was at his desk in the library looking over the contents of a folder when Christine walked in. As soon as he heard the door open, he shut it and looked up at her with a smile. "Really, Sparky? You're working tonight? It's still Christmas!" she said, pretending to complain. She sat down in his lap as he pushed his chair back from the desk and put her arms around his neck.

"I can't help it," he said, smiling as she kissed his cheek. "You've known for quite some time now that I was a workaholic, dear."

"Yeah, I guess…I suppose it's a good quality, especially when your considerable stamina and energy are focused on entirely on pleasing me."

He chuckled as she kissed his neck and played with his hair. Wrapping his arms around her he chided, "You should be ashamed of being so selfish on Christmas of all days."

"I should be, but strangely, I am not. Maybe you should come up stairs and spank me."

"I might just have to do that, then…"

"But before you do, just to prove that I'm not entirely self-centered, I'll have you know I did get you a little something for Christmas."

"I know. I already found the box of ammo you hid under the espresso machine."

"Hey! You opened it without me?" she replied, genuinely hurt.

"No, I just made an educated guess based on how heavy it is. But thanks for spoiling the surprise now," he teased.

"How did you even find it? I just moved it there this morning!"

"I sensed a disturbance in the force as soon as I came in the room. Incidentally, choosing this room as a hiding place for a gift intended for me was a really poor decision, baby doll."

"Believe it or not, I did actually consider the fact that you'd probably get nosy and start sniffing around for your present, but I couldn't very well leave it hidden behind the umbrella caddy in the closet with all the guests coming in today, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna lug that heavy mofo all the way upstairs, now was I?"

"No, as usual, your logic is unassailable, dear," he said with a smile. "So do I get to open it finally, then?"

"Not until you kiss me," she teased. After obliging, he moved to the sofa and she brought him the box, dropping it heavily on the seat beside him for dramatic effect.

"I noticed you bothered to actually wrap it this time," he said, smiling at the Easter Bunny themed paper.

"Yeah, but I still used duct tape just so you'd know it was from me."

"Oh, of course, I wouldn't expect any less from you," he replied as she handed him a knife to cut through it. He opened the box and tried unsuccessfully to dig through it without getting packing peanuts all over the floor- _She wanted me to make a mess,_ he thought when we saw her grinning- before finding the first of several small packages within. "Oh look- socks," he said, opening the first one with a laugh.

"Yeah, they're not as awesome as my shark socks, though," she replied, holding out and wiggling her feet. "Rawr!"

"Sharks don't roar, dear," he pointed out.

"In my world they do!"

He laughed and shook his head at her before pulling out the next package. "Hey, cool ties! Thank you!"

"Wait," she said, rummaging around in box and pulling out another package or him to open. "Check it out!"

He tore the paper off and said, "Oh, fantastic. Matching underwear."

"Well, you could be a _little_ happier about that! I saved you the trouble of doing it! And I'll have you know, I got more than a few strange looks at Macy's when I was trying to color coordinate them with the ties, sir. And stop giving me that look! I'm still keeping your odd predilection on the down-low. For now, anyway…"

"And yet, I'm strangely not reassured by that promise."

"Yeah, well, just don't ever piss me off, and you'll never force me to make you suffer for it," she said with a grin.

"Again, that's not very reassuring, dear."

"Oh, hush up and keep digging!"

Next he drew out an envelope. "Symphony tickets! Wonderful!"

"Yeah- that one was kinda selfish. I figured that now that I had such a beautiful new dress, I'd better get some use out of it, you know? That, and I wanted us to have at least one last nice night together before I head out on tour again."

"It sound's lovely, really. I can't wait!"

"Good. You've got one more in there before you reach the ammo that may or may not be at the bottom."

He fished around until he found it, unwrapped the layers of tissue paper and gasped. "Wow! Dalek salt and pepper shakers! And a Tardis sugar bowl! I love them!"

"I thought you might. But remember- when guests come over, that shit is _not_ going to be on the dinner table, got it?"

"Oh…" he whined, crestfallen.

"Well, people already know _I'm_ crazy. We don't want them thinking we both are!"

" _This_ is not crazy," he insisted. " _This_ is cool."

"Okay, well, I don't want other ladies to figure out how cool you are and then start scheming to steal you away from me. How's that?"

"It would be more convincing if you could say that without rolling your eyes at me, but I'll take it."

"Great," she said, kissing his cheek and snuggling up to him. "By the way, I _do_ think you're very cool. Except for that goofy Dr. Who shit, of course."

"One of these days, you're going to watch it with me, and then I promise you you'll start to love it."

"Hmmm, not too sure about that. Anyway, I'm glad you like them. And," she added, kissing his neck, "if you come upstairs, I'll give you the rest of your Christmas present."

He sighed heavily and said, "As tempting as that may be, I do have some work I have to finish up yet tonight, first." He stood and went back to his desk to pick up his folder.

"Aw, _seriously_ , Spencer?" she exclaimed. "You gotta be kidding me! It's still technically Christmas!"

"Which is precisely why I must take care of this today," he said, holding the folder out to her. "Go on. Look at it. Then you'll understand why it's so important."

She refused to take it, saying, "No. I don't want to see pictures of chopped up bodies or read a profile of a psychopath. I just want to spend some time with you, and digging through your gruesome, grisly world with you doesn't count!"

"Dammit, Christine! For once in your life, try not to be so insufferably stubborn and just open it!" he demanded.

She glared at him and then snatched it from his hand. "Fine. Have it your way. Then we can _both_ be miserable on…on…Christmas…" Her voice trailed off as she opened the folder and stared at it's contents. As she flipped through the papers within, her eyes started to well up with tears. "Are you serious?" she whispered. "Is this really happening?"

"Yes, it is," he said softly, smiling. "We're really going to Hawaii."

She jumped up and hugged him. "Oh, sweetheart, I've just been dying to go back. Thank you!"

He stroked her head against his chest. "Well, you know my objections to beaches, but as long as you promise we'll get to see other sights, then I suppose I can be persuaded to visit the beach a time or two, as well. I booked the trip for May, because I thought you'd probably appreciate being able to take a break before touring some more…"

"Oh my God," she said, suddenly speaking quickly and excitedly. "You are going to _love_ it! There are mountains and forests and volcanoes and an aquarium and a zoo with gharials…" she pretended to bite at him while making "nom nom nom" sounds.

"Ah, and coffee plantations," he added with a smile.

"And sea turtles and whale watching and malasadas and snorkeling! Yay!" she cried, jumping up and down clapping her hands like a child.

"I don't know about the snork-" She cut him off my kissing him firmly on the lips.

"Just for this, you can have the rest of your Christmas present right here and now, if you want," she said, playfully tugging at his belt.

"Ah, well…I think I'd still like to have that upstairs," he replied with a grin.

"Come on, then!" she giggled, grabbing his hand. "And I promise you, you now officially have a green light to do whatever you want with me tonight!"

"Really? Even that thing where I-"

"Shh! Let's not talk about the thing. But yes. You can even do that! Yay!" she squealed. "We're going to Hawaii!"

* * *

As they were getting ready to leave the office the following Friday, Morgan asked Spencer, "So kid- you got any big plans for New Year's Eve?"

"Tomorrow night we're seeing the NSO perform at the Kennedy Center," Spencer replied excitedly.

"Wow, the symphony. Sounds exciting," Morgan replied with a touch of sarcasm that was lost on Spencer.

"I'll say. Those tickets aren't easy to get! Christine gave them to me for Christmas!"

"She get you anything else?"

"Sure- socks, a few ties, a few hundered rounds of ammo, and…a few other things…" he replied, blushing.

"Yeah, lover boy! You got a little special Christmas cheer, didn't you?" Morgan said with a grin.

"Why? Are you jealous?"

"Hey, man! I get plenty of lovin', believe me!"

"Oh really? Gee, what's her name?" Spencer asked innocently. "When do we get to meet her?"

Morgan's eyes narrowed as they stood waiting for the elevator. After a moment he replied, "You know what your problem is? You don't know how to mind your own business."

"Oh- oh really? _I_ don't know how to mind my own business? _That's_ a new one…"

"Yeah, and you wanna know what your other problem is? You're starting to become a real wise-ass, just like your girlfriend!" They both laughed as they got on the elevator. "But seriously, that's tomorrow night. No plans for New Year's Eve?"

"No, nothing other than having dinner at home and watching a few movies. I don't care for large parties with people I don't know, and Christine said she didn't want to be out on the roads too late with a bunch of drunks. And you?"

"Oh, there's a party downtown at one of the clubs, and I've got a date with the lovely Angelique!"

"Now, is this an actual woman, or is she just someone you made up in an attempt to impress me?"

"Hey, kid, watch yourself! She is very real. She's a psychologist, if you must know."

"Uh oh…"

"What? What's wrong with psychologists?" Morgan demanded.

"It's just…you know they're all crazy, right?"

"That is precisely what I'm counting on," Morgan said with a grin. "The crazier in the head, the better in bed, I always say. You of all people should know I'm right!"

"Well, you are certainly not wrong."

"That's what I'm talking about!" he said as he reached out to mess up Spencer's hair.

* * *

Sunday evening, Spencer was sitting in the parlor, alone, waiting for Christine to join him so they could start their movie. She and Alex had been doing something secretive in Alex's room, which was starting not only to irritate him with how long they were taking, but was causing him to grow increasingly apprehensive about what mischievous plot the two of them might be hatching against him. He noticed headlights come up the drive and stop in front of the house, and moment's later there was a knock at the door. From upstairs, Christine called down, "Sweetheart, could you get that? Just tell him to wait a few minutes, please!" He furrowed his brow, but did as he was asked and was shocked when he opened the door.

"Anderson! Um, hello? Come in. What brings you here tonight?"

"I'm here to pick up Alex, sir," he replied, somewhat bashfully.

Spencer's eyebrows shot up. "Really. You're here for Alex? I wasn't aware…" his voice trailed off as he stared at the other man. _So this is what those two have been fussing around over_ , he thought. Remembering his instructions, he invited Anderson into the parlor to sit with him and wait for Alex to come downstairs.

Both men sat in awkward silence for a long moment before Spencer asked, "Might I enquire as to your plans for the evening?"

"Yes, sir. I had tickets to dinner and the party tonight at the Hay-Adams," he replied, fidgeting somewhat nervously as Spencer continued to stare at him steadily.

"I see. And this will be the first time you've taken Alex out, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you thought that it was appropriate on a first date to take a young girl to spend the evening at a hotel with you?"

Anderson's jaw fell open as he looked at him, then he began to stammer, "Well, ah…it's a very nice hotel and…you know…we're…we're just going there for dinner, Dr. Reid. Just dinner…and then to the party afterwards…that's all…"

"I see. So when are you planning to bring Alex home?"

"Well, you see…there will be a champagne toast at midnight…so we'll stay for that, and then…""Oh. So you're planning on taking Alex to a hotel and then drink with her all night?" Spencer asked, sitting up straighter.

"No, not all, sir…not all night," Anderson answered, fumbling for words, "just until midnight sir, and then-"

"So then you'll be bringing her home after that?"

"Okay, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I'll bring her home right after that."

"So we'll be expecting her back by 1:00am at the latest then. But, if you're driving, do you also plan on drinking?"

"Oh, no sir. No. I'll…I'll just have a sip at midnight. I promise."

"Good. You know, Alex is very important to Christine and me. She's like family to us, and we want to make sure she's taken care of and treated respectfully. Do you understand?"

"Oh, absolutely, sir! Alex is a wonderful girl-"

"Lady," Spencer corrected. "She is a wonderful young _lady_."

"Yes, sir. She certainly is, and I-" Anderson stopped short and stood up. "Alex! Hi! Wow, you look just…beautiful!"

Alex blushed and smiled shyly as she stood in a dark red cocktail dress Spencer had never seen before. It had long sleeves and a wide neck that prompted Spencer to say, "You look lovely, Alex, but don't you think it's a bit chilly tonight to be wearing that? Christine, don't you have a nice sweater she could borrow? Her neck will get cold…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Christine said, trying not to laugh. "They're going to be inside all evening in a crowded ballroom, not wandering aimlessly on the streets!"

"But what if they have car troubles? There might be bad weather tonight, and we all know too many people will be driving while intoxicated- they could have an accident…Alex, maybe you should also wear more comfortable shoes, too, just in case you do have problems," Spencer fretted.

"They won't be having any problems, dear," Christine said, rolling her eyes at him.

"Well, you can't be certain of that! Anderson, do you have emergency supplies in your car? And Alex, you've got your cell phone on you, correct?" Spencer continued nervously. Pulling out his wallet, he took out some cash and handed it to her, saying, "Here, now take this in case you have need of a cab or anything. And remember, you can always call Christine or me at any time if you need help…"

"Spencer!" Christine said, putting her hand on his arm. "They're adults! They're going to be all right! Just relax, and let them go so they can have some fun tonight!"

Spencer looked at her perturbed, then said, "Well, I'm…I still think it's a little too late to be out tonight, but…well, I hope you have a nice evening. Just be careful out there, okay?"

"We'll be fine, Spencer," Alex said, giving first him and then Christine hugs. "You guys have a nice night, too, okay?" As Anderson helped her into her coat she added, "I love you guys. See you next year!"

"You, too, sweet pea," Christine said with a smile as she held the door for them. "Have fun!"

"Drive safely," Spencer added, as he stood behind her. "And don't forget- 1:00am!"

"Yes, sir," Anderson replied, as he helped Alex into the car.

"I hope her cell phone is fully charged," Spencer said to Christine as she shut the door. "Did you check that?"

"No, dear, I didn't," she replied with a laugh as she passed Spencer on her way to the parlor.

"Why didn't anybody tell me about this?" he asked, standing in front of her as she sat on the sofa and picked up the remote.

"Well, geez, Sparky! Previously when I mentioned he'd expressed some interest in her you seemed to think it wasn't a big deal at all. Now a month and a half later he needed a date for New Year's Eve and suddenly you're all bent out of shape about it! What's going on in there, huh?" she asked teasingly, playing with his hair after he'd sat down beside her.

"Well, perhaps it seemed like a good idea when I thought they might be grabbing coffee together some afternoon. But it seems much less appropriate now that I know he's taking her out drinking at some cheap hotel until the wee hours of the morning!"

"Okay, you, now just hold up there. First, you know as well as I do that that is no 'cheap hotel'. It's one of the finest hotels in DC, and they're going to enjoy a very elegant dinner, do some dancing, and share a toast at midnight. And I'll have you know that those tickets are actually rather expensive. How am I so sure of that? Because I thought that you and I might go until I saw the price!"

"And do you think she ought to have been wearing so much makeup? He might get the wrong impression of her…"

" _Excuse me_?!" Christine burst out indignantly. "Alex doesn't wear makeup, so where do you think she got that stuff, hmm? Yeah! That's right- that was _my_ makeup she was wearing, and _I'm_ the one who put it on her!"

"I know! That's the problem!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait. Are you honestly saying that when I wear makeup, I look like some kind of cheap whore or something?"

"What? No! No, you're not…" he stopped and thought for a moment and continued, "look. That's not what I meant at all. It's simply that I understand what he must be thinking when he looks at her when she looks like that, because it's how I think when I look at you. It's one thing to see a beautiful girl on the street or in a photograph, but it's quite another to see the woman you already have feelings for all dressed up and made up…I mean, I know that if I'd been bolder or had more confidence with you on our first date, and if we'd gone to a hotel like that, I'd have wanted to get a room and spend the night with you. That's how I always feel when I look at you."

Christine calmed down and smiled at him. Reaching out to take his hand, she said, "No, Spencer, it wasn't a lack of confidence that kept you from trying to get into my pants on our first date. It was because you're a good man, and because you respected me enough to wait until you were sure I was ready. I mean, maybe you waited a little too long," she added with a chuckle, "but you never would have forced yourself on me. And that's how decent people treat people they care about. I think Grant cares enough about Alex to want get to know her before he tries to hump her. Hell, at least we know he was willing to spend more on her for New Year's than I was willing to spend on you!"

He grudgingly smiled at this last bit, but insisted, "Well, what do we even know about him, really? I mean, I work with the man and even I hardly know anything about him."

"Well, we know he's from Montana and that his parents either have some kind of divided loyalties or are terribly confused individuals."

"What? What makes you say that?"

"Well, he's got an older sister named Clara and a fraternal twin brother named Lee."

Spencer turned and gave her a dubious look. "Really? They named their twin sons Grant and Lee?"

"I know, right? But Lee's the elder of the two, so whichever parent was on Team Gray won the naming derby on that one. We also know that he was hired by the same people who hired you, so obviously he's not a violent felon or pervert. And he is able to put up with all of Aaron's crap without totally going ape shit on him so, clearly he is a patient man…" She looked Spencer as he sat with his arms crossed, unconvinced. Nudging him, she added, "Come on, Aaron may be humorless, uptight and mildly dictatorial, but he is a damn fine judge of character. If Grant's good enough for him, then he's good enough for Alex. Besides, Sparky, she's 21. She's not a child, and she's certainly not _your_ child…"

Spencer sighed heavily. "I know that. But we're still responsible for her, aren't we?"

"I would say I have far more responsibility for that young woman than you. But this is your way, isn't it? You want to protect everyone you care about and solve all their problems, even if it means you have to live their lives for them. But you can't do that, Spencer! Sometimes, the best thing you can do for someone is put a little trust in them, and trust that you've given them enough wisdom and confidence to go out and make their own decisions in life. Although," she said, snuggling up to him, "I suppose if you really wanted to go into full dad-mode with them, you should probably be waiting for them on the veranda when they come home tonight. You can even get my 12 gauge out of the safe and be holding it on your lap for full effect."

He laughed as he put his arm around her. "Now you're just trying to be ridiculous…"

"Sure I am. But you know, we are in the South. I think that's how things are done around here." She reached up, put her hand on his cheek and sighed. "You sweet, wonderful, tender-hearted man. You let yourself worry way too much about everyone but yourself. That's going to get you into trouble someday, but I love you for it." She kissed him softly. "Now…let's think about our situation for a moment. It's New Year's Eve, we've got a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge, and this whole big house all to ourselves for the next several hours. Can you think of anything else we could possibly be doing with our time other than discussing Alex's date?"

He looked down into her smiling eyes and rested his forehead against hers. "Well, there are a few things I can thing of, now that you mention it…"

He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a long, deep kiss. They giggled as they both pulled off one another's clothes and tossed them on the floor. She lay back on the couch, sighing as he caressed and kissed her body, then cried out in delight as he finally thrust himself into her. Her voice grew louder and louder as they made love until, just as she was on the verge of climax, he stopped. "What the…! Shoo! Go on now! Get out of here!" he exclaimed.

"What?!" she gasped. "What the hell is going on?"

He sat up and grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa and quickly covered both of them with it. "It's that damned cat!" he said, pointing to Spud, who was sitting silently on the floor beside them. "He's watching us!"

"Oh, who the hell cares?" she complained, putting an arm around his neck and trying to pull him back down. "Let him watch. The poor lonely thing could probably use the vicarious thrill!"

"No! I…I can't! I'm not putting on a show for that animal!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Spencer," she said, standing up. "Let's go upstairs, then!"

"Here," he said, holding out her discarded clothes for her, which she didn't take.

"No thanks," she replied, marching out of the room as he stood holding the blanket around himself. "I for one don't give a damn what a cat thinks of me!" With that, she slapped her own bare bottom and headed up the stairs.

He hurried up behind her. "I find it remarkable that you refuse to have sex when you think my action figures might be watching you, but you have no problem putting on a display for a live cat!"

"Now see, that's completely different," she replied, laughing as he shut the bedroom door behind them and caught her in his arms. "Cats are natural living creatures. Your dolls are toys for overgrown man-children that have creepy little painted on eyes. Do you understand now?"

"Perfectly," he said, smiling as they tumbled into bed. "I understand you are absolutely out of your mind!"

* * *

Not long after midnight, Christine was lying drowsily in Spencer's arms when he sat up, swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood up to stretch. Yawning, she asked, "What are you up to?"

"I thought I'd better go downstairs and pick up the clothes we left all over the parlor," he replied from inside the closet. A moment later he emerged hastily yet fully dressed. "It seems to me that when they get back, it would be best that they _not_ find our underwear all over the room."

"Ah. So _that's_ what you're using as an excuse to wait up for her, hmm?"

He stood looking at her for a moment and admitted, "Well, there's that, too…"

"Wait for me, then," she said, getting up to throw on some pajamas.

"You can't go down there like that," Spencer said, frowning.

"Why, are you worried that Grant might come in and accidentally fall madly in love with me after catching sight of me in my super sexy turtle and starfish jammies?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just afraid he'll figure out how crazy you really are," he teased.

"Hey man, I hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure he already knows about that. It's not like I'm trying real hard to keep the crazy under wraps, you know."

They had just finished picking up their things downstairs when Christine suddenly turned out the lights. "What's going on?" Spencer asked.

"I saw headlights! Hurry! Follow me!" He ran after her down the hall and into the library. Tossing the clothes she'd been holding onto a chair, she moved to look out the window.

"Why are we in here?" he asked, standing beside her and peering outside.

"Shhhh! I wanna see if he gives her a kiss goodnight!"

They watched as Anderson got out, held the car door open for Alex, and walked her up the steps to the house. "Dammit! I can't see them from here- can you?" she whispered.

"No, not at all," he replied, straining to get a better look.

Christine grabbed his arm. "Shhhh! I hear the door!"

They both listened for the front door to shut again then crept to the library door to look down the hallway. Alex flipped on the light and stood there, looking back at them. "Well," she said with a grin on her face, "I'm home, safe and in one piece. Satisfied?"

"Very," Spencer answered, feeling his cheeks grow red for having been caught spying on her.

"Not entirely," Christine said. "I want details. How was it?"

"Very nice," she answered. "Dinner was wonderful, and then we danced a little. And he was a perfect gentleman the whole time."

"Did you kiss him?" Christine pressed.

Alex put her hands on her hips. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes. At midnight."

"Was it any good?" she asked, grinning. Alex blushed and tried to look indignant as Spencer elbowed Christine. "What? I wanna know!"

"You're nosey!" she cried.

"Just the one kiss, or did you get another one just now when he dropped you off? Are you going to see him again? Wait! Where are you going?" Christine called after her as Alex turned around and started to walk away.

"I'm going to bed! I'm tired and my feet hurt!" Laughing, she started up the stairs, then stopped and pulled out her phone to read a text. "By the way, Grant says happy New Year to you two!"

"Tell him we wish him the same!" Christine said.

"I don't like that he's texting and driving," Spencer whispered to Christine. "That's very irresponsible."

"I heard that!" Alex said from the top of the stairs.

"Sweet dreams, Alex," Christine called back, giggling. "And happy New Year! We love you!"

"I love you, too, Mom and Dad!" she replied before shutting the door to her room.

"Mom and Dad?" Spencer asked.

"I'm as confused as you are as to why she called us that. I mean, you've got the whole over-protective helicopter parent thing down, but me? I'm _way_ too cool to be a mom! But if you want, we can go back upstairs and practice doing that thing that mommies and daddies do that makes them mommies and daddies in the first place," Christine said with a smile.

He smiled back at her, took her hand, and together they ran back upstairs.

* * *

Tuesday morning, Spencer was getting some coffee in the break room when Morgan walked over. He leaned against the counter and asked, "So, kid- how was your quiet little New Year's Eve?"

Spencer stirred his coffee and held I up to take a sip. "It was a rather enjoyable way to spend the evening, though it wasn't exactly a very quiet one."

Morgan grinned broadly. "That's what I like to hear!"

"I quite liked it, as well. How was yours?"

"Yeah, it turned out pretty much the same as yours…"

"I don't know how you do it, Morgan. Your luck with the ladies is astounding!"

"Mine? You're the one who not only gets the fun, but you get the love that comes along with it. That's the kind of luck I wish I had!"

They were both chuckling over this when they heard a voice asking, "Sir, may I have a word with you?" They turned around to see Anderson looking at Spencer. "Alone," he added.

Morgan raised his eyebrows and looked at both of them. "I was just leaving," he said.

As soon as Morgan was out of earshot, Anderson began, "Sir, I've been thinking a lot since Sunday night. It bothered me that you seem to mistrust me. So I have to ask you- does this have to with what happened to Agent Greenaway, or do you simply not like me personally?"

Spencer stood looking pensive for a moment and said, "No, that's not it at all. What happened to Elle was in no way your fault. And perhaps I owe you an apology. When Christine first told me that you'd expressed interest in Alex, to be honest, I thought it was a great idea. She was the one with reservations. Not about you, you see, but rather she was concerned that our personal lives might cause us some professional difficulties. But when you came to the house on Sunday evening, I was caught completely unaware and I believe I reacted inappropriately. You see, Alex is very dear to me. She's as much like family to me as any member of my team- maybe even more so, given that we, for all intents and purposes, live together. So when I was faced with the sudden knowledge that she was going out on a date, I became...very protective of her. She's quite young, she's still rather new to the area, and she's led a difficult life to this point. I just want to make sure she's safe, and that she's treated with the respect she deserves. So I had an overly emotional reaction. From an objective, rational point of view, however, I know you're a trust-worthy man, and I'm sorry if I made you feel I thought any less of you."

Anderson looked at him for a moment and said, "Yes, well, I can appreciate that. If she were my close friend or sister, I'd probably want to make sure I knew what kind of guy she was going out with, too."

"Are you planning to see her again?"

"Oh- didn't you know? Yes, actually. This weekend I have to attend a seminar, but next weekend I've been invited over to your house…"

Spencer chuckled. "Let me guess- they want you to come watch the division playoffs with them?"

Anderson smiled. "Yep. That's the plan, anyway."

"Do you like football?"

"Honestly? I'm more of a baseball fan, myself. But football is okay, I guess. Chris and Alex are pretty crazy about it, though. And I thought it would be my last opportunity to see Alex before they both left for Chris' new tour."

"Well, if it's any comfort, Christine's quite a good cook, so at least the half-time feast should be something to look forward to!"

"Sounds great. And thank you, sir. I'm looking forward to it."

"Oh, and Anderson? Outside the office, you don't need to call me sir. Spencer is just fine."

* * *

After the Bears won the division championship on the 14th, Christine and Alex left with Joe on tour. While they were in Albuquerque, the BAU was called to investigate a case in Spencer's home state of Nevada. They found their unsub, but he managed to outsmart them all and elude capture. Spencer hadn't planned to visit Christine on the road so soon, but that weekend he felt he needed to see her. He couldn't figure out what was most distressing about that case- if it was that even he, Dr. Spencer Reid, had been unable to anticipate and thwart the unsub's escape, or if it was watching how deeply their collective failure weighed on Gideon. Of all the members of his team, it was Gideon whom he looked up to and admired the most. When he had first returned to the field, he seemed to be able to handle the stress. Now Gideon seemed to be slowly unraveling before his eyes, as if Elle's shooting had torn a hole in his heart and mind, and each subsequent misstep or failure was causing that tear to open wider and wider.

Usually he could depend on Christine when he was troubled as he now was. She always provided him with the physical comfort, comic relief and insightful wisdom he'd come to rely upon. But this weekend the Bears played for the NFC championship. She, Joe, and Alex could hardly think of anything else. And after they won, she was so excited, he didn't have the heart to burden her with what was on his mind. For the first time in 21 years, the Chicago Bears were going to be playing in the Super Bowl, and he didn't have the heart to spoil her fun.

* * *

A/N

If you don't understand why Christine was amused by Anderson's twin's name, Google "Grant and Lee" and "blue and gray". It should be pretty easy to figure out.

Most of this chapter takes place during the show's winter hiatus. The only episode referenced is "No Way Out", which originally aired on January 17, 2007. It takes place in Golconda, Nevada, the location to which the team has been called to apprehend an unsub, later to be revealed as Frank Breitkopf, who has been abducting and dismembering victims across the US for decades. After Gideon (accompanied by Morgan) thinks he was cornered Frank in a local diner, Frank escapes by revealing that he has abducted a school bus full of children whose whereabouts he only reveals after being given the opportunity to escape.


	26. Chapter 26

Anderson ordered himself a beer at the bar and took it over to the table in the corner where Spencer sat, laughing with Gina. "Hey! I'm surprised to see you here," he said with a smile as he sat down.

"Well, the whole team decided to come out and watch the game. Where else would I be?" Spencer replied, returning the smile.

"Gee, I don't know. How about in New Orleans with Christine? I heard they were going to have some kind of pretty great Super Bowl party!"

"Oh, I saw her two weeks ago, and parties like that are more her thing than mine, anyway. Besides," he said, making a face, "have you seen the score?"

"No, not since half time. Why, what is it now?"

"22-17, Colts," Spencer said, nodding towards the TV screen above the bar. "If the Bears don't pull it out, I'd hate to be around Christine tonight!"

"It was an amazing half-time show, though," Gina interjected. "Did you see it?"

"No," Anderson replied. "I left to come over here as soon as the second quarter ended. Who was it?"

"Prince!" she said.

"Oh. I never really got into him. Never understood what the big deal was…"

"A word to the wise: don't ever let Chris hear you say that," Spencer warned.

As they laughed and chatted, a sudden mix of cheers and shouts of dismay went up from the bar patrons. Spencer looked up. "Oh no. Touchdown, Colts," he reported. He felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out.

"Is it her?" Anderson asked, lifting his beer to his lips.

"Yep," he said, reading the text message. "And she has nothing to say that I'm willing to repeat here."

"Well, then I guess you made the right choice to stay in town this weekend. That's probably turning into the worst Super Bowl party ever right now!"

"No doubt," Spencer said, stuffing his phone back in his pocket.

Shortly after the game ended, JJ came over. "Sorry, guys. Hate to spoil the party, but we're needed back at the BAU, Spence."

* * *

A couple in Georgia had been found murdered in their home. On their flight to Atlanta, Spencer's phone began to ring. He winced when he saw who was calling and answered, "Hello, dear…yes…yes, of course I saw it…I know, I…yes…yes, I'm very sad, too…no, I'm not making fun of you…no, I'm not 'mocking your pain'…yes, Morgan is right here…yes, he's very sad, too…I know, dear, I know…look, I'm very sorry, but we're very busy right now. Can I call you tonight? Okay, then…alright, I'll call you as soon as I can. Try to get some rest, now…I love you, too…goodnight…" He sighed as hung up the phone and looked over at Morgan. "Guess who?" he said, holding up his phone.

Morgan chuckled. "Sounds like she's taking it even harder than me…"

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure she was drunk just now," Spencer said, shaking his head.

"Hopefully we won't have to wait another twenty years for them to make it back to the Super Bowl."

Spencer laughed. "I agree. I don't even want to think of dealing with her through that many disappointing seasons!"

* * *

The next morning Christine was laying in bed, flipping through the morning news shows and muttering to herself. "Yeah, yeah. I get the fucking idea, assholes. How about y'all try talking about something other than how we lost the goddamn game, ya miserable cunts, huh? Shit…" She heard a knock on the door and tossed the remote aside to answer it.

"Morning, Boss," Alex said, not waiting to be invited in. "Brought you coffee and beignets…"

"Thanks," she said, taking the cup and paper sack. She took the lid off the paper cup, set it aside, and pulled out a warm pastry which she immediately stuffed in her mouth as she plopped back down on the bed. "Did you get one, yet?" she asked, holding out the bag to Alex and spitting a cloud of powdered sugar as she spoke.

"I ate two on my way back from the bakery already, thanks," she replied. "Joe wants to leave in an hour, so if you're going to shower, you'd better get in there," she suggested as she laid out clothes for Christine to wear and proceeded to pack the rest of her things.

"Shitty game last night," she said miserably.

"Yeah," Alex agreed, "but at least they made it that far…"

"Meh. You know, I was only five the last time they won. It would've been nice to see it happen again. I still remember how we all piled into our old Chrysler station wagon and Dad drove us around town honking the horn, all us kids screaming like lunatics in the back…"

"Hey, at least you had that. I wasn't even a year old yet!"

"You poor thing," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. She picked up her cell phone from the nightstand and smiled.

"What is it?" Alex asked.

"Just a text from Spencer."

"What'd he say?"

"Um…let's just say he's got a plan to make me smile again the next time I see him."

"Oh, ew. Keep that stuff to yourself, Chris!"

"Hey, you asked!"

"Whatever. Now eat that other beignet and hop in the shower while I get the rest of this together. And don't give me that look- you can sleep on the way to Louisville!"

* * *

Early that evening, Spencer and JJ were tasked with going to investigate a possible lead in rural Georgia, nearly an hour outside of Atlanta. Someone by the name of Tobias Hankel had called 911 a few months prior to the murders to report a prowler near the residence of the victims, and they were being sent to speak with him to see if he could recall any further details of the incident that hadn't been recorded in the police file. Before they left, he asked JJ to give him a moment to make a personal phone call. Usually when they were in field he waited until they he was back in his hotel room for the day to make a call. But this case was different. The unsub was attacking with breathtaking rapidity, which meant they might be forced to work through the night. He wasn't sure if she'd still be awake the next time he had a chance to stop and call Christine, so he thought he should take the opportunity to call her while he had it. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number, but it went straight to voice mail. He smiled and shook his head as he listened to the familiar outgoing message before saying, "Hey, baby doll, it's me. Seems like you forgot to charge your phone again. Anyway, I hope you had a safe trip to Kentucky. I'm still here in Atlanta. You know I can't discuss the case, but it looks like we might be here for a while. It's 6:39 now, and JJ are taking a drive to interview a possible witness, so I'll just try to call you again when we're back if you're still awake. Please text me when you get this so I know you're all right. I love you." He turned off his phone and stared at it in his hand for a few seconds before shoving it back in his pocket and walking out to the car with JJ.

* * *

It was nausea that caused Spencer to begin to wake up. A noxious stench filled his nostrils, and his whole head throbbed with pain. The last thing he remembered was being knocked to the ground and looking up to see Hankel, whom they now knew was their suspect. When he and JJ had arrived at his house to speak with him, he'd refused them entry. Soon, however, they'd deduced Hankel wasn't a possible witness- he was the suspect. But as soon as they had figured that out, he had run with Spencer in pursuit. JJ had thought better of the situation. She had asked him to wait for backup, but he had been certain he was right behind Hankel- he could even hear his voice- and had followed him anyway. He had been afraid that if they waited, Hankel might disappear deep into the hundreds of acres of fields and kill again. For a moment, a story flashed through his mind, one Christine had told him about how as a child, when she'd play with her cousins at her aunt's farm, they'd been forbidden to ever set foot in a cornfield. They'd been told tales of children who went missing and had wandered for days after running in to fetch a ball. He'd laughed when she said she still had a fear of cornfields even now as an adult; it had seemed to him it would be simple to find one's way out of a field, merely by listening for voices or looking for the position of the sun. However, after he had rushed into the field he quickly found himself disoriented. The stalks dampened and distorted the sounds around him, and when the wind stirred, the dried leaves rustled together so loudly he couldn't be certain which direction any sound was coming from, until an unseen blow to his jaw sent him sprawling on the ground.

Now, as he began to grow aware of himself again, he surmised that he must have been struck again on the left side of his skull. He tried to raise his hand to probe the wound, but found his arms in restraints. He struggled to open his eyes and focus them, slowly forming the thought in his mind that, in addition to a likely concussion, he may also have been drugged. He saw that he was in handcuffs, that his clothing was filthy, and that his pants were wet. Some time in the previous hours, while he had been unconscious, he'd wet himself. A second, stronger wave of nausea washed over him, and he fought the urge to vomit even as he felt the vile burn of acid from his empty stomach rise in the back of his throat.

* * *

The next morning, Alex heard a knock on her hotel room door. From the goofy rhythm she knew it was Christine, but it was strange for her to be up and out of her own room at barely 6:30 in the morning. She opened it and said simply, "Geez. You look like hell."

She did. She was still in the ratty old sweatpants and oversized t-shirt she'd worn to bed, and hair puffed out around her head like a fuzzy red ball despite her attempt to tame it in a braid the night before. "Thanks," she replied, sticking her tongue out. "I slept like shit last night. Got coffee?"

"Yeah, just that little packet they left in the room, but it's yours if you want it. Come on in."

Christine sat down on the bed and scratched Spud between the ears as he yawned and stretched on his own side of the bed he'd shared with Alex. Not every hotel they stayed at allowed pets, but they'd always found a way to sneak him in, anyway. Spud raised his head so he could be scratched under the chin as Christine asked, "Does he always sleep under the covers with you?"

"Not always," Alex answered as she made the coffee. "Sometimes he sleeps on top of them, sometimes he's underneath with me. But when he is underneath, he likes to sleep with his head on my arm, which is kinda cute, but it's also kinda gross, because he drools in his sleep sometimes and I wake up with my arm all wet and nasty."

"No shit. You are one weird fucking fur ball, you know that? Yes! Yes you are! You're just the weirdest little thing ever, aren't you?" Christine cooed playfully to Spud as he purred.

"So what's got you up so early this morning, Boss?"

"I need to borrow your cell charger. I think you lost mine in New Orleans."

" _I_ lost your charger? How's that _my_ fault?"

"Because you jolly well know I suck at adulting. Frankly, I'm shocked I survived alive as long as I did without you."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Not nearly as surprised as I am. Anyway, it's right over there- take it."

"Thanks, sweet pea."

Alex poured the coffee that was now ready and brought Christine a cup. "So, what's really up? Besides the cell phone charger, I mean?"

Christine blew on her coffee and took a sip. "I just had a super weird dream last night. Or early this morning, really. I woke up, like, in the middle of it, and I felt like I was having a fucking panic attack or something. Like, I had to lie in bed for a few minutes just to convince myself it wasn't actually real, you know? And then I started looking for my phone and realized it was dead, so then I tore my room apart looking for _that_ …" she sighed and took another sip. "So there's a fantastic mess I've gotta clean up. God. I was just freaking out! So then I came over here."

Alex look at her then asked, "So what was your dream about?"

Christine pulled her legs up on the bed and sat for a moment before saying, "You know, when I was a kid, I used to have this dream. It was always different, but it was still the same. I would be running through town, but the whole place was deserted. I mean, there was, like, no one there. And I was being chased. There was- God, this is gonna sound weird, but- there was this bull. It was a huge, black bull with these red eyes, like fire. I never knew why it was chasing me, I just knew that it was. And…and when I tried to run, my legs would feel so… _heavy_. As if they were too heavy to even lift. But I'd try and try to run. I always felt like the whole rest of my body would be moving really fast, but my legs just wouldn't cooperate. And no matter where I'd hide, or how quiet I'd be, that damned bull would always find me. In my mind, I knew that…actually, I don't know how I knew this…but somehow I knew this thing was going to…to…eat me. Or something. I dunno. It was trying to kill me. That's all I really know. And the one place I'd always run to was- do you remember Ralph Seyller's place? That big white house on the corner of State and Jefferson?" Alex shook her head. "It's that one with all the lilac bushes?"

"No, sorry," Alex said. "Can't think of the place."

"Well, anyway, he had these lilac bushes that ran along the one side of the property, right next to the side walk. We used to walk right by them on our way to school every day. But they weren't, like, normal lilac bushes. These things were enormous. I mean, they were practically trees, they were so huge. Old Ralph's dead and gone now, and whoever bought the place pruned the shit out of those lilac trees. They probably don't even bloom anymore. It's a fucking crime, what happened to those. But anyway, when I was a kid, they were glorious, and in my dream, I'd always end up running there and hiding inside those lilac trees, because- and I don't know what it was about them- maybe the smell of them hid me or something? I don't know. But it was the one place that bull couldn't find me."

"So you had that dream again?"

"No. Kinda. I don't know. I haven't had that dream since I was a little kid. But in my dream, this time, Spencer was with me, and we were both being chased. And I…I never saw the bull, but somehow I _knew_ that it was out there, that somehow, that's what was chasing us. We found this house…I don't know where it was. I didn't recognize it. But it was empty and we tried hiding in there. Then somehow, I knew- and I don't know how I knew, I just did- that we'd been found, and that we needed to start running again. So I told him, 'Come on. Get up- I know where we can go!'"

"To the lilacs?"

"I think that's what I was thinking. Anyway, he was like, 'No. Shhh. Just be quiet. We'll be safe here.' And I was like, 'No, we won't! He's already found us! We've got to go! Follow me!' So I started running, and at first he was right behind me. But then, it's as if this time, he got the heavy legs or something, because I turned around, and I couldn't find him," at his her voice cracked and tears started to spill down her cheeks. "And I kept turning around and around, looking for him! I was standing there yelling, 'Where are you? Come on! We're going to be okay! I know what to do! But you've got to keep running no matter how hard it is! Just keep running!"

Alex handed her a tissue so she could blow her nose. "Did you find him?"

"No…" she sobbed. "I just stood there screaming, and then I heard that loud bang and woke up."

"Yeah! I heard that, too! Did you see it? There was a car crash right in that intersection down there!" Alex exclaimed.

"I know! I mean, it took me a moment to go to the window to see that, because I was lying in bed freaking the fuck out, but yeah! Looks like that jackass in the Escalade ran the red light or something. Plowed right into the side of that little Corolla!"

"I saw that! I hope everyone's alright."

"Me too, but it doesn't look pretty. There's fire and rescue and a couple of ambulances out there right now."

"Geez…"

"No shit. So that's why I'm up. When I woke up, I went to check my phone, because Spencer always calls or at least texts me these days, just to let me know he's okay. Even if I don't hear from him at night, there's always at least a message from him in the morning when I wake up, know what I mean? But last night I didn't charge my phone because I was still too damned tired from the night before, and when I got up, it was dead. So naturally that made me freak out even more, and that's why I'm here."

"Hey," Alex said, reaching out to stroke her arm, "it was only a dream, right? I'm pretty sure Spencer's bulletproof, anyway."

"Yeah," Christine said, managing a smile. "I think you're right. As usual."

"Maybe you should go back and try and get some more rest?"

"Nah. Too late. I'm up now."

"Okay, then let's try this. You go back to your room, plug that thing in, take a shower, and then you can come back and I'll let you buy me breakfast. Sound good?"

"Yeah. That's cool. Then maybe afterwards we can find a store that sells these," Christine said, holding up the charger.

Alex nodded. "Maybe you should buy a couple though…"

"That is an amazing idea! You can keep a few on you in case I lose mine again, which I probably will…"

* * *

As they shared lunch that same day, Alex noticed Christine checking her cell phone and frowning. "What's up? That new charger not working or something?"

"No, it works fine…"

"Okaaay," Alex said and waited.

"It's just…I mean, I did get a voice mail from him, so then I texted him, but he hasn't gotten back to me…"

"So? He's just busy, Chris. You know how he is…"

"Yeah, but…he always at least texts me back, usually by his lunch break, anyway. And it's, what, about 2:00 now? 2:30? He'd have had some kind of break by now. It's just weird, is all."

"What's weird?" Joe asked, returning from the bathroom.

"Your sister," Alex said. "Did she tell you about the dream she had about Spencer?"

"No, and I don't wanna hear about it, either. Keep you sexy fun-time dreams to yourself. I don't need to know that shit!"

Christine looked up from her phone and glared at him. "It wasn't one of _those_ dreams. It was a nightmare."

"She and Spencer were being hunted by a man-eating bull with red eyeballs," Alex explained, "and it ate Spencer."

"That's ridiculous. Cattle are herbavores, Chris. Have you finally gone stupid on me?" Joe laughed.

"Shut up. I know they are. And it didn't eat him. I just said I thought it wanted to. I don't know what happened to him. He just…disappeared."

"But it was, like, demon-possessed or something, so it could have eaten him," Alex suggested.

"No, it couldn't," Joe insisted. "They don't even have the right kinds of teeth or jaws. If a bull bit you, it wouldn't even draw blood. It could gore you, though. I mean, that'd be pretty fucking dangerous, even if it wasn't possessed."

"The damned bull wasn't demon-possessed!" Christine burst out, loud enough that the few patrons at the restaurant's bar turned and stared at them. Lowering her voice, she said, "Jesus, it was a fucking dream! Anything can happen in dreams. Hell, you can sprout wings and shit gold bricks in your dreams. Anything's possible. All I know is that that bull was after us and I think it got Spencer. That's all."

"That ever happen to you in your dreams?" Joe asked. "I mean the whole shitting gold bricks part. That would be an awesome dream right there…"

"Yeah, once. Well, kinda. And it wasn't awesome at the time," Christine said, putting her phone away. "But I had a bad dream and now I can't get ahold of Spencer and it's just bothering me, okay?"

Joe started to open his mouth again but Alex stopped him, saying, "Don't pick on her. She was really upset this morning. She was crying and everything."

Joe raised his eyebrows, and Christine said, "Yeah. That's right. I cried. Just like a little fucking girl. Happy? Now I've been weirded out all day. I just wish he'd call."

Joe's face softened. "Hey. He's probably just busy you know?"

"That's what I told her," Alex added.

"Chasing psycho killers is a big job. But it's a job he's really, really good at, you know? Don't worry. It was just a dream."

Christine sighed. "Yeah, I know. Hey, grab the bill, would you? I just wanna pay them and get outta here."

"Sure, okay," Joe said. "Right now, we've gotta get you to that interview with the arts and entertainment reporter from the newspaper. So just relax, get you head back on, and get through that. I'm sure he'll call or text before you go on stage. He always does. Come on," he said, smiling and leaning forward across the table to look at her, "just calm down. Don't worry. Focus on the show tonight. Then we'll have a couple of hours before the show. If you want, I can give the theater a call and make sure we have some extra time alone on stage at the theater beforehand. If you want, we can run through the whole damned thing, just you and me, if it'll make you feel better. Sound like a plan?"

"Yep. Let's do this," Christine answered.

The interview went well. Christine got her mind refocused on work and on the night's show. Joe was able to get the theater to open early for them for extra rehersal, which she took as a godsend. She'd been unnerved for nothing, she was sure, and it would be great to go over the material again to get herself into the right state of mind for the show. When they got to the venue, she and Alex headed to her dressing room while Joe talked with some of the sound and lighting crew. She tossed her bag with clothes, makeup and toiletries on an empty chair before pulling her cell phone out to check it one last time. "Unbelievable," she said, shaking her head and smiling. "That guy still hasn't gotten back to me!"

"Well, if he's not texting, maybe something's wrong with his phone," Alex suggested. "Can't you just call him?"

"Eh, I hate to bother him too much with personal shit while he's working…"

"Just do it. It'll do you good to hear his voice," she insisted.

Christine shrugged her shoulders and dialed his number, but it went directly to voice mail. "Huh. Seems like I'm not the only one who forgets to charge it once in a while."

"Who you calling now?" Alex asked.

"Penny. She'll know what's up with him. She always keeps tabs on those guys. It's kinda her thing."

* * *

In the hours that followed Reid's abduction, his team members established Hankel's home as their new base of operations. Morgan was with working with Garcia to examine the content of Hankel's hard drives when all the screens suddenly went dark and then showed a live feed of Spencer, wherever he was being held. Morgan called for the others, and they all stood watching breathlessly. They could see he'd been injured, and they knew Hankel was psychologically torturing him, as well, trying to force him to pronounce death sentences upon innocent people. As the screens went dark again, they all stood in silence for a moment, tensely waiting to hear further news of Hankel's next victims.

Garcia didn't even realize she'd forgotten to breathe until her phone vibrated on the desk in front of her. She picked it up and felt her heart fall into the pit of her stomach. "Oh my god," she whispered, her eyes wide, as she turned towards the others and answered it. "Christine! I, um, was just…I was…what? Oh...oh, oh yeah…um…well, you see…what? No, I…well, the thing is, I just, you know, I don't know where he is…yes, well…yeah, I get that you're freaked…okay. Yeah, I'll call you as soon as I know, okay? Yeah…yeah, I'll tell him." Her hands were shaking as she hung up the phone, and she started to cry. "Oh god. I'm so sorry…I didn't know what to say! What could I say? This has never happened before!" She jumped up and threw her arms around Morgan. "What do I do? Do I call her back? How do we tell her what's happening? We don't even know what's happening!"

The other's exchanged looks. "What _do_ we tell her? Can we tell her anything?" Prentiss asked. "I mean, are we _obligated_ to tell her anything? I know they're in a serious relationship, but they have no formal, legal status…"

Jason sighed. "That's not entirely true. He has signed forms making her his emergency contact…"

"He's even granted her temporary power of attorney rights. He's had his father legally excluded from making emergency decisions of his behalf," Hotch added. "He spoke with me about it. I recommended the attorney to have the papers drawn up. If his mother is non compos mentis, Christine's effectively his next of kin."

"Someone needs to tell her then," JJ said.

"Yeah," Morgan said, "and if we keep her in the dark, and things go badly-"

"Don't say that!" Garcia exclaimed. "We'll get him back! We'll find him…won't we?"

"Yes, but if we don't, and we didn't keep her in the loop…"

"She's got the power and the platform to make this a public relations nightmare for us," Prentiss concluded.

"Let me call her," Gideon offered.

"That won't be necessary," Hotch said, as he pulled his ringing phone out of his pocket. "She's already decided to escalate up the chain of command. Excuse me, while I take this call."

As Hotch stepped into the other room, he answered the phone. "Hello, Ms. Arcangeli. I been expecting-"

"Say, Aaron," Christine said, cutting him off, "I just had the damnedest thing happen, and I'm wondering if you can help me make sense of it. See, the last I heard from Spencer was a voice mail he left me yesterday evening. All day long I've been trying to text him and he hasn't responded. Now, that's unusual, but I get that you people are busy sometimes. But just now I tried to call Penny to ask her what gives, and she handed me some huge stinking pile of bullshit about not knowing where he is. So answer me this: first, what the hell is going on with you people? Second, what the fuck did she mean saying she didn't know where he is? What kind of half-assed, two-bit, second-rate, penny ante kinda operation are you running over there, Aaron, that y'all just seem to have misplaced one of your own agents?" Behind the slight laugh and her attempt to sound light-hearted, he heard a nervous edge in her voice.

"Ma'am…Christine," he began calmly, "Just before 8:00pm yesterday evening, Agents Reid and Jareau arrived at the home of possible witness to ask a few questions in an attempt to gather information pursuant to an open murder investigation. Shortly after they arrived, they discovered information that led them to believe that this witness was, in fact, the suspect we'd been looking for. When he ran, Agent Reid pursued him, and while we're not certain at this point what precisely happened next, Agent Reid went missing and was thought to have been abducted by this suspect. We have just recently learned that this is indeed the case."

There was silence on the other end of the line while Christine processed this information. After a long pause, she said slowly, "Now…uh…when you say abducted, do you mean…wait. Wait a second. Abducted? And you're sure of this how? Because…I mean, have you got a ransom demand or something?" Her words came quickly to her now, as she began to say, "Because if it's money, Aaron, I've got money. Money is not a problem. I mean, I don't have a whole lot, but I've got enough, and my folks, they've got money. For Christ's sake, my grandparents are fucking loaded, and any one of us is happy to just pay whatever we have to to get him back. I don't want any of this business of trying to fuck around with some psycho and negotiate for his release. Just skip all that bullshit and tell me what I've gotta pay, Aaron!"

"Christine," Hotch said calmly, "there has been no ransom demand. This isn't that kind of abduction. It's not why he's being held."

There was another pause before she said, "Well…but then…help me understand here, Aaron! What the hell is going on? And how do you know? I mean, you just said you know he was abducted, and you said that you know who has him. So I just don't understand how…why don't you just go and get him?"

"I'm sure you can appreciate that this is an on-going investigation-"

"Oh, cut the crap, Aaron! What the hell is happening?"

"We've just seen a live video stream of him. Let me finish!" he admonished her, as she tried to interrupt. "What is important for you to know is that he is alive. Okay? He is very much alive. So for now, that's what you need to focus on."

"Aaron," she said, her voice shaking and barely more than a whisper, "you bring that man home to me, you understand? You find him, and you bring him back. Promise me, or I swear to God, I will find you, I will follow you, and I will haunt your every waking moment, you hear me? I will make you-"

"I get the picture. And Christine, with all due respect, I want you to appreciate how serious we take this situation. You're not the only person to whom Spencer is important, and he is far more than just a colleague to us. He is our friend. So when I tell you that we are doing everything within our power to find him, I promise you, that is indeed the case!"

"So, what can I do, then? I'm in Kentucky at the moment. It's, what, about a 5-5 ½ hour drive to Atlanta? I can leave now, and I'll be there before midnight. You just tell me what to do. We can get a search party together. I know people in Atlanta. I'll have my brother make some phone calls, and you just tell us where to-"

"Christine, I know you feel very helpless right now. But you need to trust me. We are the best people to handle this situation, and the best way for us to do that is to do it by ourselves and with the help of local law enforcement. The best thing for you to do right now is to either stay where you're at, or, if you'd rather, go home and wait for him there. I promise you that as soon as anything happens in this matter I will call you immediately. Okay? Please trust us."

"Yeah," she said weakly. "Alright. Just…just bring him home, okay, Aaron? Bring him back to me."

"I will. We will. I promise you that."

He hung up the phone and returned to the rest of the team. Gideon looked up at him questioningly, and JJ asked, "How did she take it?"

Hotch sighed heavily. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. She offered to pay ransom. I explained to her this was not that kind of abduction. Then she informed me she was on her way to help look for him. But I had to insist that she not come and let us do our jobs."

"God," Prentiss said, "she's got to feel absolutely helpless. _I_ feel helpless."

"Yes, but we're not. We'll find him," Gideon said, reassuring himself as much as anyone. "We'll find him."

* * *

Alex watched as the blood drained from Christine's face as she spoke with Aaron. When she heard the word, "abducted," she flew out of the dressing room to find Joe. She interrupted him as he was joking with a couple of stagehands. "Joe. Joe! Come on," she pleaded. "Something's wrong. I mean, like, seriously wrong."

He turned to her with a smile still on his face. "Oh, hype down, girl! What kind of ridiculous fit is my sister throwing now?"

Alex grabbed his arm, "She was talking to Aaron about Spencer and she said something about, 'What do you mean, he's been abducted?'!"

Joe stared at her for a moment before saying, "Are you serious?" Without waiting for an answer, he took off running towards the dressing room backstage. He burst into the room and found Christine sitting in front of the mirror with her face in her hands and her glasses on the counter beside her. "Chris…what's this…Alex said something about Spencer. What's going on?"

"I don't know," she said, her voice muffled by her hands. "I just…I don't know." She let her arms fall and looked at Joe in the mirror. "Aaron said…he said he's been taken by one of the psychos they were trying to catch. They've seen a video…they know he's alive for now…that's all I know. So what the hell do I do now?"

Joe stood with his mouth hanging open. "God. I don't know. I mean, do you think you can get through the show tonight at least?"

She turned around and stared at him, dumbfounded. " _The show? Are you actually fucking kidding me?_ " she nearly screamed. "Joseph- if it were Laurie out there, what the hell would you be doing right now?"

"Honestly," he replied after a pause, "I'd gather an angry mob with torches and pitchforks and I'd hunt down the bastard who took her."

She shook her head and fought tears. "Which is exactly the one thing they won't let me do. So what now?"

"Now we do whatever you need to do. It's your call, Chris. You tell me what you need, and I'll make it happen."

Christine swallowed hard and replied, "We cancel the show."

"It's less than two hours until curtain, though," Alex said, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Tell the theater, Joe," Christine said.

"I think I already know what you're going to say, but- you do realize the theater is still going to want to be paid for the night, right?" he replied.

"Then we pay them. Don't argue. We pay. And go get a video camera. There's a lot of people out there who are already on their way. We can't just have a sign on the door when they show up."

Several minutes later, Joe had a camera set up on stage. Christine smoothed her hair and let Alex wipe her wet cheeks with a tissue. "Take your time, Chris," Joe said, "Just take a deep breath, take it slow, and keep it together. I'm ready when you are."

Christine closed her eyes, and sat silently before nodding to Joe, looking into the camera, and saying, "Good evening. First, I'd like to thank you for coming tonight. Making you laugh and showing you a good time- trying to bring a little more joy into your world- it's the reason I do what I do. It's a life I love, and I get to do it because of you. For that I thank you, truly and sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. When you spend your hard-earned money to come to my show, you deserve the very best I have to give you. This is something I take very seriously. Unfortunately, tonight I am unable to give you my very best. There is one thing in my life that is more important than my fans, and that is my family. A short while ago, I learned that a loved one is in serious danger. I therefore find it impossible to give you the show you deserve to see tonight. In the coming weeks, we will be working with the management of this theater to reschedule the show. I still love you all and hope to see you soon. For those of you who would like refunds, we will have information on my website within 24 hours that will inform you how to receive them. I apologize for this late notice and any inconvenience it has caused you. This cancelation was my personal decision, for which I take full responsibility. It is an extraordinary situation, and I thank you for your understanding. I hope to see you all very soon." She waited a few seconds then nodded to Joe to stop recording. "Get copies of that to the theater and have them set up monitors for the people who do show up. Leave whatever copies of my CDs you have with the theater. Tell them that anyone who wants one can have it, free of charge. Put a copy of that video online as well. Then call local radio stations. See if you can get them to get the word out to anyone on their way. God, I hope this doesn't result in too much of a shit storm. That is something I just can't deal with- not now. And give me your room key. Alex and I are going to go back to the hotel to get ready to go."

"Where are we going?" Joe asked.

"Home. When they bring him back, I'm gonna be there. You just get done what I've asked, Joseph. You've got about a half an hour or hour, and then we're outta here. Everybody on board?"

Alex and Joe nodded and exchanged a look. Both wondered what would happen if Spencer _didn't_ come home, but neither had the courage to ask.

* * *

A/N

The episodes referenced in this chapter are season 2, episode 14 "The Big Game", and episode 15 "Revelations". As it is my intention to tell these characters' stories from a perspective other than the one we've already seen through the show, this chapter presumes significant previous knowledge of these episodes. If anything is unclear, or if you notice significant inconsistencies with the original episodes, please contact me so I may clarify or make corrections as needed.


	27. Chapter 27

"Pull off here at this rest stop, Joe," Christine said. "I gotta pee."

It was just before midnight; they'd been on the road for nearly five hours. Before leaving Louisville, they'd stopped at a convenience store to load up on junk food and coffee for the drive. Christine had wanted to do the driving- she thought it would help her stay calm if she could focus on the road instead of letting her thoughts run away with her sanity, imagining every horrific scenario Spencer might be enduring at that moment. But Joe had insisted upon doing it himself, so that she could be free to answer any phone calls she might receive. They'd driven in relative silence thus far, but at the sound of Christine's voice, Alex sat up on the seat she'd laid down upon in the back, rubbed her eyes and asked, "Where are we?"

"Still in West Virginia, but we'll be crossing the border into Virgina soon," Christine replied.

"So we're almost home, then?"

"Nah, sweet pea. After we cross the border, we'll still have to drive north up between the Blue Ridge and Appalachian Mountains. It's actually faster to drive around them than to try and get over them…"

"So what mountains are these, then?" she asked, peering out the window into the darkness.

"Technnically, we're not in the mountains, per se," Christine replied. "This is the Allegheny Plateau. The Allegheny Mountains are to our north."

Alex yawned and stretched. "Well, they seem like mountains to me…"

"Yeah, well, to a girl from Illinois, they would. Maybe someday we'll go camping out here, do some hiking…you'd love it. Lots of salamanders to find, too."

"Any word from Aaron yet?" Alex asked.

"Nope. Nothing," Christine replied as Joe parked the van. "Well, we've still got over three hours to go, dear, so if you've gotta pee, you'd better go now."

When she emerged from the bathroom, Christine saw that Joe had finished filling the gas tank and was standing beside Alex, who was on her phone. She hurried over and asked, "What? Did you guys hear something?" just as Alex was hanging up.

Alex shook her head. "I just called Grant. Actually, I think I woke him up…anyway, I thought he might know something. But it sounds like what Aaron's told you is as much as he knows. Maybe more, even. But I thought that maybe…I hoped that…" Alex started to cry and put her hands to her face. "I'm sorry! Joe said I shouldn't cry in front of you and make you more upset. But I can't help it! He's one of my best friends! What if we never…" she stopped herself and looked at Christine.

She put her arms around Alex and said, "It's okay. We'll see him again. You said it yourself- that man is practically bulletproof. We'll see him again," she repeated, stroking Alex's back.

Joe put an arm around each of their shoulders and said softly, "Come on, ladies. Let's get moving again. It's starting to rain and you're both shivering."

* * *

Slowly, the fog started to lift from Spencer's mind again. He hated how the drugs he'd been given made his mind start to move slower, how they made thoughts and ideas so strangely difficult to form. It was almost as if it took him physical effort to form a cogent thought, and yet- and yet on some level, he knew that Tobias believed he was helping him. Dilaudid had helped him endure and escape his own personal hell in his youth. Now he could almost feel the same happening to him. It wasn't just the physical pain that it relieved; almost the instant it entered his bloodstream he could feel it releasing him from the horror of his surroundings and filling him with a sense of well-being and calm that comes with being able to forget.

Now as he felt its effects wearing off, he just felt a sickening, irritating, maddening slowness in himself. He wasn't a strong man- not physically, anyway. He never had been. All he'd ever had to rely on was the quickness of his own mind. It was the one thing he could always depend on himself for. Now as he sat here, sick, sore, cold, filthy and shackled, he couldn't even depend on _that_. He'd never felt so utterly helpless and terrified in his life, now that he was lacking that one part of him he should have been able to depend upon to save himself. It was a realization that hit his brittle heart and psyche like a hammer, shattering them in to thousands of tiny shards, leaving him feeling as though nothing were left in his chest and head but their painful, broken remnants.

Tobias approached him, speaking now not as himself, but as his father, Charles. He grabbed him arm, glared at the track marks and growled, "You're pitiful! Just like my son! Confess your sins!"

Spencer could only stare back at him, unable to find the words he needed before Tobias reared back and hit him with an open-handed wallop across his face. His head and neck were wrenched to the side by the force of the blow. He heard his own voice whimpering like a little child's, and at the sound of it he was hit by another wave of shame- he knew his team must be watching him now. Tears sprang to his eyes, bringing with them even more shame.

"Confess!" Hankel bellowed.

"I haven't done anything," he sobbed, his voice thin and pitiful sounding. Hankel balled his fist and struck him again in his left jaw. "Tobias, help me," he pleaded, hoping to appeal to Tobias' own personality for protection against his father's.

"He can't help you. He's weak! Confess!"

Before he could answer, Hankel backhanded him on the right side of his face, jerking his body back upright. "Tobias…"

"Confess your sins," Hankel leaned in to hiss in his ear as he grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Help…" Spencer heard himself say, sending Hankel into a fury. With a shout, he hurled Spencer backwards. When the back of his skull hit the floor of the cabin where he was being held, a flash of light exploded like a bomb in his mind, and everything went black.

* * *

"Joe?" Christine asked as the van started to drift across the center line. "Joe? Joseph!" she said sharply, prompting him to jerk the vehicle back into their own lane. "Christ on Friday! Are you trying to kill us?"

"Sorry," he said, his heart racing. "I think the coffee I had is starting to wear off. I'm awake now, though!"

"Yeah, but not for long. Pull over," she ordered.

When he had done so, she jumped out and leaned against the side of the van. He got out and joined her, just as she was lighting a cigarette. "When did you start smoking again?" he asked.

"Oh…about seven hours ago," she said, taking a drag. "Don't give me that look."

He moved closer to her until their shoulders touched. "Sorry. Now's not the time to judge, I guess."

She ran one shaking hand through her hair. "Oh, sweet holy Jesus. I feel like every nerve in my body is pulled tight enough to snap right now."

Joe put an arm around her and pulled her close. She let her head fall against him, and he said, "Hey, it's alright. To be honest, you've kinda been freaking me out. You've been way too calm through this. It's not normal, Chris."

"What if…what do you think is happening to him right now? Is he being tortured? I mean, do you think this shit really goes down like in the movies, where they start cutting off body parts one by one? Is this guy cutting off his fingers or ears or pulling out his toenails? I mean…" she started sobbing. "I mean…how do we even know if he's still alive?" She turned to look at Joe, her voice just above a whisper.

"Come on, you know as well as I do that he's one of the toughest guys there is. I don't mean, like, FBI tough. I mean, you know…"

"He's all heart," she said, wiping her face. "He's got more heart than anyone I've ever met…"

"And brains," Joe said with a little smile, squeezing her shoulder.

"Yeah," she chuckled. "I suppose there's that, too."

"You know, that's everything, right there. Sometimes, it doesn't matter if a guy's not the strongest or fastest or the best with a gun. If he's got heart and brains, he can figure a way out. And- look at me, Chris," he said. She did, and he continued, "Spencer loves you. He loves you more than even you know. And I can guarantee you that he is going to find a way to get back to you. He won't ever stop. As long as he's got that heart and those brains, he's gonna be just fine. Okay?"

Christine nodded. "Say, do you remember that old Weird Al Yankovich song we used to listen to?" She started to sing, "I'd rather rip my heart out of my ribcage with my bare hands and then throw it on the floor and stomp on it 'till I die …" Joe joined her in singing the last verse, "Than spend one more minute with you." They both laughed. "That's pretty much how I feel right now," Christine said. "Not the last part, you know. I mean the part about having my heart ripped from my chest and thrown on the floor and stomped on." She took one last drag on her cigarette, dropped it on the ground and crushed it with her heel.

"I know what you meant. It's okay to cry, you know. You've gotta let it out some time…"

She nodded, still staring at the ground. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. But not yet. Not now. Once I start, I'm not gonna stop. And right now I just gotta hold myself together, at least until we get home, or I will completely lose my mind." She raised her arms above her head, clasped her hands, stretched, then held one hand out to Joe and said simply, "Keys."

"No, I'm driving."

"Like hell you are. I don't feel like waking up dead in a ditch tonight, Joseph!"

"I'm fine. I just needed the fresh air. Besides, you need to have your hands free in case you get a call."

"Whatever. But if I catch you dosing off, I swear to God I'll beat you like a redheaded stepchild!"

* * *

Spencer gasped and coughed and gulped air into his starved, burning lungs. He opened his eyes.

Hankel sat him back up in his chair and spoke, this time ask neither himself nor as his father. "You came back to life."

"Raphael?" he asked, correctly guessing the name of the personality Hankel was now manifesting.

"There can be only one of two reasons," Hankel continued.

"I was given CPR," Spencer replied.

"Tell me whom you serve," Hankel said with an eerie calm.

"I serve you," he replied, trying to maintain that calm.

"Then choose one to die," Hankel commanded.

"What?" Spencer's mind spun, suddenly clear, and yet he struggled to grasp Hankel's meaning.

"Your team members- choose one to die."

"Kill me," he replied, instantly filled with despair. He'd failed. He'd failed miserably and spectacularly. His own recklessness had brought him here, to this man, and now, no amount of quick thinking and cleverness could save him.

"You said you weren't one of them."

"I lied."

"Your team has 6 other members," Hankel insisted. "Tell me who dies."

"No."

Spencer watched as Hankel pulled out a revolver, loaded a single bullet into it, spun the cylinder, and aimed it at him, the barrel just inches from his forehead. "Choose," he said, "and prove you'll do god's will."

He'd heard it said that in such situations, one's life flashed before one's eyes. He found now that for him, this was not so. To Spencer it seemed rather as if his life lay open in his mind like a book, the pages of which fluttered and flipped at Hankel spoke, each page revealing a scene from his life.

He was young, very young. He'd just been tucked into bed and his father sat beside him, reading a story. As his father's finger ran beneath the letters on the page, he suddenly noticed that, just as each letter had it's own sounds, so too did each group of letters form it's own word, and all at once he knew how to read…

He was following a tortoise in the desert, walking behind it slowly, giggling as little children do at it's funny gait, it's knobby, horned legs splayed out to the sides as it ambled along. He must have followed it a long time, because when he finally heard his name being called, the voices came from far in the distance. He turned and ran towards them, and as cross as his parents' words were as they scolded him for wandering off alone, their hugs told him he was loved…

His father was running red-faced beside him as he sat on his new bike and pedaled. He cried for his father to let go, because he was a big boy now and could balance on his own. Finally his father did let go, and the bike began to wobble, but he could hear his mother calling to him to pedal faster. He did, and he stayed up. It was just an average, ordinary bike, but in that moment, it felt like a rocket ship, carrying him faster and further than he'd ever dreamed possible…

He looked up at the gun, and saw the single bullet in its chamber. He looked Hankel in the eye and said simply, "No."

Hankel pulled the trigger, the cylinder rotated, and again Hankel said, "Choose."

The pages turned again in Spencer's mind. He was a little older now and was close to tears as he walked home. He'd been moved from elementary school directly to high school, so the few friends he'd previously had were no longer in the same school as he, and his new, older classmates showed him nothing but contempt. Upon opening the door, he smelled cookies- fresh cookies! His mother had been having a good day, and had made them for him while he was away. Nothing in his life had ever tasted so sweet…

Now he was older still, moving into his new dorm room at MIT. He pulled out the framed diploma he'd recently received from Cal Tech from a box and stood it on his desk. He stepped back and crossed his arms as he admired it. He was still weeks away from his 16th birthday and already he could rightly be called _Doctor_ Spencer Reid. He breathed deeply and smiled at the thought...

He looked up again at Hankel and said nothing. He pulled the trigger, the cylinder rotated, and again he was told, "Choose."

He was sitting in the cafeteria when Joe demanded he shake his hand, then told him about his sister and fed him chocolate cake. It had been years since he'd smiled until his cheeks hurt or laughed until he was unable to catch his breath. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd done so, but he guessed it was when he'd last had a friend- a true friend. Now he had one, in the rumpled, slovenly, laughing form of Joe Arcangeli…

He was standing in front of Christine's apartment in DC and watching her leave to go inside, only to see her turn around, come back to him, and kiss him. He hadn't wanted to go on that date, and now here he was, holding her warm body against his, breathing in the smell of her hair, feeling her sweet, soft lips pressed to his…

He stared steadily at Hankel and said, "I won't do it."

Once more he pulled the trigger, and the cylinder rotated. "Life is a choice," Hankel told him.

He was standing by the side of her bed, so eager and so nervous that the time had finally come. He pulled of his clothes quickly and slipped under the covers beside her, too shy to let her see him. To be sure, he'd been clumsy and fumbling and full of self-doubt. But she when she held him, smiled at him and held his body against hers, it had been unutterably perfect, so natural that finally making love to her had almost seemed unreal…

He was sitting on the edge of the bed they shared, unable to take his eyes off her as she slept in the early morning light. When he reached out to softly brush back a few wisps of hair from her face, her eyes opened- her large, light blue eyes that reminded him of pure, clean ocean waters one could see straight through, down to their deepest depths. She smiled and giggled and threw her arms around his waist, begging him not to leave for work so soon. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, feeling in that moment completely happy and whole…

He looked at Hankel and said simply, "No."

Again Hankel pulled the trigger. Again it clicked, and rotated, finally moving the single chambered bullet into firing position.

"Choose," Hankel ordered.

They here having a barbecue, and all his friends had come over. She'd fed them all and kept them laughing. Joe and Morgan had upbraided him for making an off-color joke about her, but she had laughed. He looked up and down the tables as they sat outside together with his collegues, and with Joe and Laurie and Alex. Even as the damned cat rubbed against his leg while they sat laughing together, he couldn't help but love this crazy, silly new life they were building together…

He was standing beside her at work, waiting for the elevator, hearing her slurp noisily on her slushy and listening to her joke about Hotch, saying that he'd come to respect her after she'd recommended a proctologist to him to help remove the steel rod he had shoved up his ass. He grinned and was shaking his head at her outrageousness when she added, "You know, I still am not that man's biggest fan, but I can tell you this much- that man will always have your back."

Hotch.

 _"_ _That man will always have your back."_

Spencer had known his share of loss and disappointment in life. But there were so many beautiful memories, too. Good ones. Happy ones. Joyous ones and silly ones. Memories he now wanted more than anything to make more of. He looked up at Hankel and said, "I…I choose Aaron Hotchner. He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4- 'Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.'"

Hankel raised the gun above his head and fired. He loaded one more bullet, saying, "For God's will," and left.

Spencer hung his head and wept, praying that Christine had been right, that Hotch would understand the message he'd sent, and that they would come and take him home.

* * *

When they pulled up in front of Christine's house, the lights were on on the veranda and in the parlor. Christine recognized the silver Volkswagen parked in front as Joe and Laurie's; there was also a Jeep she didn't recognize until Alex sat up and remarked, "Grant's here!"

As they got out of the car, the door opened and Laurie stepped out onto the veranda followed by Anderson. Christine took a deep breath and walked up the steps. Laurie threw her arms around her sister-in-law and said a few comforting words. "What are you doing up at this hour?" Christine replied simply as they went in the house. "You of all people should be in bed. Are you eating properly? You look like you haven't gained an ounce yet. I'm worried about you. Joseph- are you feeding this poor woman properly?"

"For pity's sake, don't worry about me. I'm healthy as a horse," Laurie said. "How are you holding up? You look like hell."

"I kinda feel like I've been I've been hit by a truck, to be honest," she said, flopping down in a chair, "which is remarkable, considering I've done nothing but sit on my ass for the last eight hours or so. God, I feel like a shitty hostess…is anybody hungry? Should we order some pizza or something?"

"Chris, it's 3:00 in the morning. I don't think there's anything open right now," Joe said.

"We should have some frozen ones, if anyone's interested. Alex, would you be so kind as to-" she continued.

"Chris, stop! Just…stop!" Joe said. "Look- it's okay. If you wanna break down or freak out or whatever you need to do, then for God's sake, just do it! That's what we're here for. You don't need to be strong for our sake! We're here for you right now!"

Christine jumped up and stood with her face inches from her brother's. She raised her right hand as if to slap him, then clenched it and extended her index finger and said in a low voice, "Damn it, Joseph. Don't you dare tell me what to do or feel right now. You have no idea- no fucking idea- just how I feel. But I can't control that. I can't control anything that truly matters to me at this moment. The one thing I can control is what happens under my own goddamn roof. So that's what I'm gonna focus on. Don't you dare try to take that away from me and start ordering me around, Joe. Not now!"

"Boss," Alex said softly. "It's okay. We all just love you, that's all. Joe most of all. You sit down. I think we have some cookies in the cupboards. Grant, why don't you come and put on a pot of coffee for us, okay?"

"Thank you, my dear," she said, sinking back down into her chair. "Just tea for me, if you get the chance." She looked up at her brother. "I'm sorry, man. My nerves are a little shot right now…"

"Hey, no worries," he said with a shrug and a smile. "That's what I'm here for."

Christine picked up the TV remote and turned on CNN to break the strained silence. A short while later, Alex and Anderson started bringing in the cookies they'd found along with the coffee and tea. After snacking in silence for a minute, Christine asked, "So…anyone wanna play a game?"

They all looked up at her. "A game?" Laurie asked.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" she said. "This might be one of the few chances we have to play cards together when Spencer won't, you know, totally humiliate us all."

"Why, does he try and count cards or something?" Laurie asked with a smile.

"That's exactly what he does," Joe said.

"No, that's what he wants everybody to think he does," Alex said, "but actually he's just a dirty little Doctor Cheater-Pants." They all stared at her. "What? You really think he's just that good? Last time the you guys were playing, Joe, and you got up to pee, I caught him looking at your cards. He gave me $20 to keep my mouth shut."

Christine started laughing so hard, tears came to her eyes, while Joe shouted indignantly, "I _knew_ it! I _knew_ it! I knew there was no way he could have beat me without cheating!"

"And for once, you were right," Alex said as she took the top off an Oreo and licked the cream.

"How could you not tell me? Who's side are you on, anyway?" he continued.

"The side of whoever pays me the most," she replied, shoving the rest of the Oreo in her mouth. After chewing it for a moment, she stuck her tongue out at Christine.

"Aw, man, that is disgusting!" Christine said, laughing harder.

"What else do we have?" Laurie asked, also laughing.

"Scrabble?" Christine suggested.

"Um…hello? Four college grads against a dyslexic girl?" Alex complained. "That's not fair!"

"What do you know about fair?" Joe complained.

"How about Clue? Do you have Clue?" Anderson asked.

"No," Christine said immediately. "No Clue. Not tonight. I've had enough of crime solving for a lifetime, I think. How about Trivial Pursuit?"

"No!" Joe said. "You're, like, the font of all useless knowledge! I'm not playing that against you!"

"Okay, then, how about Monopoly?" Christine suggested.

"No!" Joe and Laurie both shouted.

Alex leaned over and explained to Anderson, "They don't like playing Monopoly with her because that's the one where _she_ cheats because she tries to get people to sell her their property for real money."

"That's not cheating! There is nothing in the rules that says you can't do that!" Christine said.

"I always make out pretty well when we play that one, too," Alex continued. "Either that, or her or Joe end up throwing the board across the room so that no one wins."

"Look," Laurie said, "why don't we just play Uno? Can we all agree on Uno? Yes? Alex, where's the deck?"

As Alex stood up, Christine's phone rang and they all froze. She pulled it out of her pocket, but her hands were shaking so hard she fumbled it and dropped it on the floor. She dove down to get it, saw who was calling, took a deep breath and answered it. "Hello, Aaron? Yeah? It's me…you…you what?" The others watched as she took off her glasses and tossed them aside. She covered her eyes with her hand and her shoulders shook as she began to sob silently. Laurie reached for Joe's hand and Anderson stood to put his arm around Alex's shoulder. "He is? Oh, God…yes…alright…I understand…" There was a long pause as Christine wiped tears from her eyes. Alex handed her a tissue, which she took without looking up and held it to her nose. Finally, they heard her say, "Sweetheart? Is that you? Is it really you? No, I'm not crying…how are you? No, baby, you really should let them check you…oh…okay…well then, you just come home then. We can get you checked out at home…yes…yeah, alright…just come home then, sweetheart. I love you. See you soon." She hung up the phone and sat for a moment in the middle of the floor, unable now to stop the flood of tears.

Alex knelt down and put her arms around her. "Was that…did they get him?" she asked.

Christine nodded and blew her nose. "They've got him," she sobbed. "That was him. He's coming home!" Laurie burst into tears while Joe let out a shout and jumped up from his chair. Anderson walked over to Alex and put a hand on her shoulder. "He…oh, thank God. He's alright. He's alive!"

"Is he okay?" Alex asked, hugging her tightly and rocking her a little.

"Oh…he sounded terrible. Really, really tired. And he's refusing medical attention. He said he wants to just shower and change and come home," she said, turning to look at Alex and smiling through her tears, "but he's alive!"

Alex laughed and smiled and cried and nodded. "That's all that matters. You got him back!"

Christine nodded and began crying again, harder than she'd ever cried in her life, and laughing like a fool as she leaned into Alex's embrace.

* * *

A/N

Much like the previous chapter, this one presumes knowledge of season 2, episode 15, "Revelations". While I generally avoid using scenes or dialog directly from the show in favor of using my original ideas, I found it impossible to tell this pivotal event in Reid's life without using some scenes taken directly from the show. In particular, the dialog between Reid and Hankel has been quoted verbatim from the show. These words should therefore not be construed as mine. Writing credit for that episode belongs to Jeff Davis, Chris Mundy and Andrew Wilder.


	28. Chapter 28

"Okay, kid," Morgan said, when they got back to Spencer's hotel room. "Why don't you go on and get in the shower, and I'll pack your things for you so we can get the hell out of here!"

"No," Spencer replied quickly. "No. I…I can manage my own things. There's really nothing to pack, anyway. And I'd actually like just a few minutes alone, alright?"

"Yeah," Morgan said with a shrug. "Yeah, I get it. You do what you need to do. We'll be down in the lobby waiting for you."

"Thanks," he said, as he unlocked his door and went in. "I won't be long." After the door closed behind him, he began tearing off his clothing as quickly as possible, even losing two shirt buttons in the process. He flung them in a heap on the floor and stood naked, staring at them. He suddenly wished he had some gasoline and a lighter- or better yet, a blow torch- and could incinerate them right there and then. A strange, strangled sob caught in his throat; he never wanted to see those filthy things again, much less touch them. He had the urge to scream as long and loud as he could at them, but he resisted. He knew that at that very moment all his friends were in the neighboring rooms, packing their own bags, and the last thing he wanted right now was for them to think he was losing his mind. So he stepped over the heap of clothing to the closet and grabbed a plastic garment bag. He turned back, looked at his clothes for a moment, then quickly shoved them into the bag, knotted the end of it and threw it in the trash. He wanted to stomp on the whole mess in the can, but decided against it- the soles of his feet were too sore. All at once, he felt a wave of nausea wash over him that sent him running to the bathroom. He stumbled and caught himself just as he reached the toilet and fell on his knees, dry-heaving.

After several minutes, he stood up, shaking all over. He stepped in the shower and turned the water on as hot as he could stand it. He began scrubbing every inch of his body, feeling as though he might never completely wash away the filth and stench from himself. When he began to wash his hair, however he winced. The shampoo got under the bandages he'd been given where his scalp had been split open, and the whole left side of his head was painful to touch. He briefly wondered if he'd been concussed, but quickly decided to worry about that in the morning. Or afternoon. Or whenever the hell it was that he'd have time to get himself examined. All he wanted at that moment was to get home, to see Christine, and to get some sleep. He rinsed himself off and got out.

He hardly had the will to towel himself off. The more time he spent away from that infernal cabin, the more acutely he became aware of the physical damage that had been done to him. He refused to look at himself in the mirror as he walked, still dripping wet, out of the bathroom. He knew how he must look. He feet were bruised and swollen, as were surely his back, ribs and neck, likely from when the chair he'd been in had been thrown backwards. His wrists bore raw, angry red marks from the handcuffs and his arm…he was sick with shame at the thought of how _that_ looked. He stepped into a clean pair of underwear and grabbed the shirt he'd hung in the closet days ago. As he put it on, he found himself fumbling with the buttons- his hands were shaking. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, willing them to be still. He glanced for a moment at the vials he'd taken off Hankel's body that were now sitting on the nightstand; it occurred to him that perhaps they were just what he needed now, to steady his hands and alleviate the pain that increasingly seemed to be enveloping his entire body. He swallowed hard and decided no. Not now. He would _not_ meet Christine stoned. He took a few a deep breaths and finished the task with his shirt. He then put on a clean suit and his extra pair of shoes. Finally, he turned to the mirror, combed down his unruly hair, and put on his tie. He took special care to straighten it properly. He knew how he usually looked- they'd all teased him for wearing his tie perpetually askance, even Christine. She'd once said it suited him that way, because it properly gave him the air of a mad scientist. But at that moment, he needed to show them _he_ was in control of himself, that he _was_ alright, and that, at least for now, he was _not_ losing his mind.

He grabbed his things and met the others in the hotel lobby. As soon as they saw him get off the elevator, they all stood up, gathered their bags and got ready to leave. "Sorry to keep you all waiting," he apologized, as they walked to the waiting cars.

"Spence," JJ said softly, "you…you should have worn something more comfortable."

"I _am_ comfortable."

"You don't look very comfortable," Garcia fretted.

"I'm fine," he replied shortly, climbing into the back of one of the SUVs.

"You don't look fine, either," she replied.

"Look," he said, irritated, as the doors closed and they drove off, "I was slapped. I was punched. I had a gun held to my head, and I haven't slept in nearly three days. I am exhausted. All things considered, I believe I'm doing quite well, thank you. I simply want to go home and sleep. Alright? Is that too much to ask?"

"No, Spence," JJ said, "not at all."

"Fantastic. How long will it be before we take off?"

"We'll be leaving as soon as we can get to the airport," Hotch replied from the front seat.

"So soon?" he asked.

"Yes. Shortly after we found you I received a phone call from Quantico. They've cleared our flight path and the jet's already been refueled. Right now, getting you back is top priority. You have Lt. Colonel Arcangeli to thank for that."

* * *

Christine went up to her room to take a quick shower and change her clothes. As she sat on the edge of the bed pulling on her socks, there was a knock on the door. "Yeah, it's open," she called.

Joe came in and sat on the bed beside her. "I just got a call. They're in the air and will be landing in just over an hour. So we can go as soon as you're ready…"

"Hey, it's cool. You can stay here. You've already done, you know," she said, her voice started to shake, "you've done, like…way too much already, Joe. I, ah…I really couldn't have gotten through this without you. Sorry I've been snapping at you. I didn't mean it…"

"Wait," he said, grabbing a tissue for her, "if you're gonna cry and wipe your nose, for God's sake, don't do it on the sleeve of your clean shirt." They both chuckled as she blew her nose. He put his arm around her shoulders. "It's alright. That's what I'm here for. Besides, I've waited a goddamned long time for this."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know…to have a little brother to look after. That's what I always wanted, you know. But then you were born and I had to put up with having a little sister instead…anyway, I've finally got my little brother. I love him, too, you know."

"Yeah, I know…you sexist jerk…" she said, elbowing him. "But at least make Laurie stay here. We've finally got the one spare room fixed up."

"She is already in bed."

"Good. That's good," Christine said, drying her tears. "So- do you know yet?"

"Know what?"

"You know what. Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Oh that!" Joe said, with mock surprise. "Yeah, we know."

"Well…?"

"It is definitely one of those, yes."

"You know, you really are a annoying prick sometimes," Christine complained. "How you ever convinced that woman to marry you is a mystery to me."

"Yeah, it's kind of a mystery to me, too. But here's hoping our daughter winds up every bit as beautiful as her mother," he said with a smile.

Christine raised her eyebrows. "A girl? Wow. That's really…wow. Well, I'm sure she'll be amazing. She'll have a couple of pretty incredible role models to look up to. And one meddling aunt who will be doing her best to teach her how to be a mouthy, mischievous little hellion."

"Thanks for the reminder. I'll make a mental note never to let you babysit."

"You're a wise man, Joseph."

He stood up and yawned. "Whoa. Sorry. Anyway, I'll be downstairs. We can go whenever you're ready."

Some time later, after they'd passed through the gate at Quantico MCB, Joe turned down a road with which Christine was unfamiliar. "Hey, dingleberry," she said. "The FBI building is that way."

"I know that, sister dearest, but the airfield is _this_ way," Joe replied, pointing to a sign.

"We can't exactly pull up on to the tarmac, you turkey," she said. "Pretty sure you need special clearance for that."

"Which we have, gingersnap," Joe said.

"From whom? I can't believe ol' tight-ass Aaron would bend the rules for us…"

"No," Joe said, stopping the car, and nodding to a figure standing a short distance away, "but _he_ would."

Christine squinted and said simply, "Well, I'll be damned. How did Wes find out about this?"

"How do you think?"

"Damn, Joe. Remind me to give you a raise when this is all over."

"I'll settle for you naming your firstborn Joseph. Or Josephina. Either works."

Christine got out of the car and started walking towards her eldest brother. "You didn't have to do this, you know," she called to him.

"A simple thank you would have sufficed," Wes replied.

"Yeah well, thanks, Wes," she said, as he reached out to embrace her. "I, um…I'm really sorry to bother you at this hour of the night. Or morning. Whatever the hell it is now…"

"Hey, come on. Don't cry over it. He's been through enough. He doesn't need to see you crying, too," Wes answered, rubbing her back.

"I know," she said, nodding. "I can imagine, anyway. What do you know about the situation?"

"Not much. Just what Joe said you told him. When I spoke with Agent Hotchner the first time to see if I could be of any assistance, he turned me down. Said they could handle it best themselves. That, and when he called me later to say they were getting ready to take off, he said that in the end it seems Spencer pretty much rescued himself. Managed to get some kind of coded messages to them to tell them where he was. That's a helluva good man you've got there, that guy."

"What'd I tell you, Chris," Joe said, as he and Alex joined them. "I told you that boy had the brains and heart to save himself."

Christine simply nodded as she sniffed and rubbed her runny nose, shivering in the wind.

"That should be them right there," Wes replied, pointing at the blinking lights in the dark, pre-dawn sky. He turned back and exclaimed, "Damn, girl! You brought that goofy cat with?" as he looked at Alex, who held Spud in her arms.

"It's okay," Alex said, somewhat defensively. "He's on a leash. And he misses his Uncle Spencer too, donchya boy?"

Wes shook his head and muttered, "A goofy-ass cat on a leash. Figures you'd have one of them, Chris."

They watched together for several minutes as the small jet landed then taxied to where they had gathered. The first to deplane was Gideon who turned and offered a hand to Spencer, who ignored it. At the sight of him, Christine walked slowly and deliberately towards him. When she at last stood in front of him, she found her voice temporarily failed her. She simply looked him up and down, then reached out and started smoothing down the lapels of his jacket, then the collar of his shirt, before moving to straighten his tie which, for once, didn't actually need straightening. Finally, she lifted her eyes up to his before gingerly touching the bandages on his forehead and temple. At the sight of them, her lip began to quiver and her hands trembled. Spencer pulled her towards him and held her head to his chest as she began to sob soundlessly. "It's okay, baby doll," he whispered. "I'm okay."

She nodded and after a moment she lifted her head up and kissed him softly on the lips. She turned and gave a little nod to Joe and Alex, who came forward to welcome him home as fast as Spud could pull her. Stepping past Spencer, Christine met Hotch. She stared at him for a few seconds before throwing her arms around him. "Thank you for being a man of your word. You saved my life tonight." She began to cry again. "You saved my life!"

They hardly spoke on the drive home. Spencer made it clear by his brief, one and two word answers that he had neither the desire nor inclination yet to share with anyone what he'd experienced over the course of the previous few days. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure he _could_ put into words what had happened to him. All he could think of at the moment was his physical pain, his extreme exhaustion, and how thankful he was that, for the time being, everyone in the van had picked up on his signals that now was not the time to talk to him. He felt as though every nerve fiber in his body had been stretched as tautly as possible, like over-tightened strings on a guitar, and every word anyone spoke to him seemed as though it plucked at them, sending a vibration through his body so deeply unpleasant and irritating he thought he might snap. The only two things that soothed him sufficiently right then were Spud, who sat on his lap silently while Spencer stroked his soft, warm body, and the faint, familiar scent of Christine's hair, which had become intertwined in his mind with home and safety.

When they reached the house, Joe got out of the van and reached for Spencer's bag just as he was picking it up himself. "I got this, man," he said. "You just go on inside and get some rest."

"I can carry my own things, thank you," Spencer replied, immediately regretting how irritated his voice sounded. After all, his friend was only offering to help. "You…you've already done more than enough for us," he added, softening his tone.

"Nah, man," Joe said, with typical affability. "Anytime."

As they walked in the door, Christine said softly, "Go on upstairs and get some rest, sweetheart. I've got a few things the three of us need to talk about, then I'll be right up."

Spencer nodded and walked up the stairs, silently cursing each step that exacerbated the pain in his feet. He shut the door behind him and stepped into the closet to quickly put away his things and redress himself in his pajamas. He put on some heavy flannel ones; it was a cold night, and he knew from experience the bedroom would be cooler than the rest of the house. When he came back out he looked at the bed. The quilt was rumpled as if she'd sat or laid on top of it and a few pillows were out of order. He wondered briefly if she'd had any rest herself in the last few days. He wondered how she'd come to know of his predicament and how much she knew of it, but he quickly put those questions out of his mind; he had no interest in asking her- not now, anyway. He pulled back the covers and was just climbing in when the door opened. "Hey," she said softly and came over to sit beside him on the bed.

"Hey," he replied.

"I don't suppose you'll let me look at that head of yours right now?"

He shook his head. "No. Let's deal with it in the morning."

"Well, technically it _is_ morning," she said with a smile that quickly faded when she saw the pained, exhausted look on his face. "Sorry. Should I build a fire in the fireplace, perhaps…?"

He shook his head again, failing to conceal the revulsion he immediately felt at the thought. "Please don't."

"Oh, he must've kept you somewhere that smelled of…sorry," she apologized again.

"It's okay. I'll be okay. Let's just sleep, alright?"

"Yes, darling. Of course. I'm just going to go change. You go ahead and lay down." She turned out the light on the nightstand, changed in the closet, and came back to climb in beside him. They lay facing one another, her head under his chin. She softly kissed his chest and then reached down to find his hand. She held it gently, brought it up to her lips and kissed each of his fingertips. He put his arm over her shoulders and held her. She didn't make a sound, but he could tell by the way her shoulders shook that she was crying.

They lay there like that until he was sure she was sleeping. He turned over onto his back and groaned. He'd never felt so tired, so utterly devoid of energy in all his life, but somehow he simply couldn't get his mind to switch off. Every moment he'd spent in that damnable shack played over and over again in his mind as if on a continuous loop. He clenched his fists and pressed them to his forehead as he gritted his teeth, trying not to scream aloud. _Sleep!_ he screamed internally. _All I want is some goddamned sleep! I_ need _to sleep! Please, just let me sleep!_ He opened his eyes and saw the dimmest light start to fill the room. It was nearly sunrise; he must have been lying there like that for two hours. Finally, he stood up and went to the closet. He stood and stared for a moment at the small safe where he kept all his personal vital documents. He keyed in the code to open it and grabbed the syringe and one of the vials he'd taken off of Hankel.

Moments later he came out of the closet and saw Christine sit up in bed, rubbing her eyes and yawning. As he lay down again, she asked, "Everything okay, Sparky?"

"Everything is fine. I'm fine. Lay back down," he replied, his words coming thickly. Within seconds he felt himself slipping into sleep.

Christine sat staring at him with worry and sadness as he began to snore softly. "Poor guy," she whispered, "you are just beyond tired, aren't you?" She kissed his nose in the darkness. She'd never heard him snore before.

* * *

He thought he heard the doorbell ring. Opening his eyes, he made note of the dim light that was in the room. He had no idea how long he'd slept or even what day it was, but the fullness of his bladder soon reminded him that he must have been out for quite some time; he quickly jumped out of bed, wincing at the pain he immediately felt in his feet, sides, and back, and almost ran to the bathroom to relieve himself. As he was washing his hands he could hear footsteps moving up and down the hallway and muffled voices punctuated by light laughter. He sat down on the bed again, rubbed his face and put on his glasses. Just then the door opened and Christine peeked in the room. She smiled when she saw that he was awake and came in the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her. She sat down beside him, put her arms around his waist and kissed his stubbly cheek. "Yay! You're awake!" she said quietly but happily. "I thought I heard movement in here, finally. Did you sleep well?"

He nodded and managed a little smile. "Well enough," he replied. "What time is it?"

"It's almost 7:00," she said. "That would be 7:00, Thursday evening," she added, guessing his next question by the look on his face.

He yawned, then asked, "Who all is here?"

"Oh, sorry- I hope we didn't wake you! Joe and Laurie are still here. Joe, Alex and I have some business we're still trying to work out. And Diana came just now, too."

"Diana? What's she doing here?"

Christine rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "She's here for you, Sparky. She's off work now, and she offered to come by and check you out here before we drag you off to a hospital. Think it would be okay if she came in and gave you a once-over?"

Spencer didn't particularly relish the idea, but seeing no way to avoid it, he said simply, "Yeah, sure. Let me just go and take a quick shower first."

"You go do that," Christine replied gently. "And while you do that, shall I put on some coffee for you?"

"I'd rather have espresso, actually. A double. And please have Alex make it. You never put enough sugar in it!"

"As you wish," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

After his shower, he found Alex had already left his coffee on his nightstand and took a couple sips. He then dressed himself in some loose, comfortable clothes and went down the hallway to Christine's office where he could hear they'd all gathered. "Thanks for the coffee," he said to Alex, who nodded and smiled.

"Ready for me?" Diana asked.

"I suppose so, yes," he replied, and led her back to the bedroom.

"Go ahead and sit wherever's comfortable," Diana ordered, dragging a chair over to the bed where he sat, ignoring his offer to help her with it.

"I'm rather surprised to see you here," Spencer said, attempting to be nonchalant. "I thought you'd have had that baby by now."

"You and me both, brother," she grumbled. "I was due two days ago, so I'm already on maternity leave now. So, let's start with the obvious- what's going on with that head of yours?" When she saw him hesitate to respond, she said, "Look. Chris isn't here, and I can promise you that I will not tell her anything you don't authorize me to tell her. So, you can start by telling me how that happened."

"Which one, the jaw, the side of my head, or…" his voice trailed off when she saw her look of impatience. "Of course, you want to hear about them all. I was punched once in the jaw here, another time in the cheek here, and I was slapped two times, once on either side of my face. As for this," he said, brushing back his hair so she could lean in and see the wound at his hairline, "I'm not entirely sure how I was struck. I suspect with a piece of pipe or-"

"Looks to me like you were probably pistol whipped," she said, examining it. "I'd say he was holding a revolver when he did it…"

Spencer made a face. "Do you see many such injuries in pediatrics?"

She sat back down heavily and sighed. "Sadly, we see entirely too many of them. People can be unspeakably cruel to children. But we're talking about you now. When you say you're not sure now it happened, am I to presume you lost consciousness?" He nodded and looked away. He could feel her keen eyes on him, gauging his response to every question. "Looks like a fresh bandage. Change it yourself?"

"Yes," he replied, remembering to look up this time.

"Aside from the pain of the cut and the bruising, have you experienced any headaches? Mental confusion? Dizziness? Double or blurred vision? Tinnitus? Nausea?"

After he'd answered in the negative to each of her questions, she said, "Cut the crap, Spencer. For someone raised in Vegas you've got a terrible poker face. So what's going on?"

"Well, of _course_ I've got a headache!" he replied angrily. "Look at me! But does it feel like it's caused by pressure within my skull? No! And sure, I've experienced some nausea and lightheadedness but that seems to be coming from the fact that I've hardly had any food, water or sleep for three damn days! But I've been experiencing no visual or auditory difficulties, so I'm quite certain I _don't_ have a concussion! There- are you satisfied?"

"No, but it's an excellent start. It's also interesting to note that if I want to get an honest answer out of you, I have to make you angry. So, shall I continue to purposefully try and piss you off, or are you going to start telling me the truth?"

He took a deep breath and said more calmly, "I'll tell the truth…"

"Excellent. Remember Spencer, I'm not your enemy now. I'm here to help you," she said as she took his arm to measure his pulse. At the sight of his wrists she said, "Geez. And what was this- handcuffs?"

"Yes."

"Any other injuries you'd like to let me know about, or do I need to force you to strip for me?"

"My feet," he replied quietly.

"Go ahead and take your socks off for me." As he did so, she moved the light on the nightstand to get a better look. "When you walk, do you feel any sharp, localized pain, or is it more of a dull, diffuse pain?"

"Dull and diffuse."

"Well, the good news is nothing's broken. The bad news is there's nothing to do for the bruising at this point except to keep them warm to increase circulation and accelerate healing…Anything else?"

"My chest…"

"What's going on with your chest?"

"I think I may have a few cracked ribs."

"Oh? Why- are you experiencing pain when you move or breathe?"

He nodded. "Primarily when I move, yes."

"And how did that happen? No, you don't get to clam up on me now, or I'll find a way to make you mad again. Just ask my husband- I'm excellent at that."

"I was given chest compressions…"

Her eyebrows shot up. "CPR? Why were you given CPR, Spencer?"

"I…I had a seizure."

"What precipitated the seizure, Spencer?"

He pressed his lips together and stared at her. "I was seated in a chair and was pushed backwards so that I fell. I hit my head and couldn't breathe and…and I don't remember anything after that."

"Unbutton your shirt and lay back," she ordered. "And stop acting like such a prude. For God's sake, I'm a doctor. Besides, I like my men brawny, not scrawny. anyway…"

"Gee, thanks."

"No problem." As she examined each rib, she continued, "So, tell me about this seizure. Any history of seizures? No? Any in your family? Have you been taking any medication you were denied while you were held? Have you been using alcohol or illegal drugs lately?"

"Diana, I work for the FBI," Spencer replied with irritation. "Do you really think I could do my job and still be an alcoholic or drug abuser?"

"Calm down. It was only a question. And yes- I have known substance abusers in every walk of life. Just last month a teenage patient of mine told me she'd been to a party where she shot up heroin with a certain woman who's name I recognized. The reason I recognized her name was because she's my now-former dentist. So yes, people from all walks of life may become addicts. Addiction is an equal opportunity disease. So answer the question, Spencer."

"No," he replied, looking her straight in the eye. "I do not abuse drugs or alcohol."

"Well, then we're left with head injury as the likely cause of the seizure. Now, I know you're not experiencing other symptoms of a concussion, but it's something we should seriously consider. I'm going to write you an order for an MRI and based on that scan you may need to see a neurologist. I understand you're loathe to visit a hospital at this time, but possible brain trauma is something you cannot ignore, understand? You should also be aware that there are indeed two fractured ribs here and here," she said, indicating them on his chest. "They are hairline fractures and I'll write you an order to have a chest x-ray taken if you'd like, but in all honesty that would be primarily for purposes of confirmation only; the only treatment I can recommend for them is to restrict your movement as much as possible, and take anti-inflammatory analgesics as needed. Please sit up so I can get your blood pressure and listen to your lungs and we'll be finished."

As she did these things, Spencer asked, "Do you know what you're having?"

"Another little girl," Diana replied.

"Are you excited, or were you hoping for a boy?"

"You know, I would have liked a little boy just for some balance in the family, but as long as she's healthy, I'm happy. Stephen, though, is overjoyed, which makes me very happy, because, I'm telling you, Koreans usually want those sons. My own parents had to have five girls before they finally got my brother Jacob, and now my mother is already bothering me to try and get pregnant again right after this one. She says it's my duty to my husband. But my husband is perfectly happy either way, so I told my mother she needs to learn how to mind her own business."

"How long will you be on maternity leave?"

"Well," she replied as the put away the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope, "this time I'm going to take at least a full three months off, though I'm considering taking as long as six."

"Really? The hospital is allowing you that?"

"No. They only offer six weeks paid leave. And that's more than I took off when I had Lizzy. Our society puts a lot of pressure on people to get up and get back to work even after they've gone through a pretty significant physical trauma like childbirth. And I put a lot of pressure on myself, too." She sat down heavily and sighed. "I thought my patients needed me. That I was the one on whom they were all depending, and that I was the only one who could save them. But the fact is, in retrospect, I wasn't ready to go back. I needed more time and I deserved more time. Lizzy and Stephen deserved it, too. They deserved a better me than the stressed out, exhausted, worn-down, irritable and anxious me they got. Which brings me back to you. When are you thinking you'll go back to work?"

"Next week."

Diana frowned. "I would strongly advise against that. Give your body and mind time to heal. And you should find someone to talk to. Not an FBI shrink that you'll be worried will report you to your boss, but someone outside of work to whom you can open up and be completely honest with. Even if you think you don't need to do that now, I can guarantee that a day will come when all those thoughts and emotions and fears you experienced are going to come crashing down on you, and you won't be able to sort out all the hurt and make sense of it on your own. You will need someone to talk you through it and make sense of it all. Alexandra's therapist is excellent, but if you prefer someone else, I'm sure she can make a recommendation. Oh! And one last thing- I didn't hear any congestion in your lungs, and you don't appear to have been struck on the nose…do you have allergies, perhaps? Have you had thick or dark colored mucus or sputum?"

"No. Why?"

"Christine mentioned you were snoring last night."

"What? I don't snore…"

"Yeah, that's what she said, too. That's why she thought it was unusual. But in the absence of allergies, an upper respiratory or sinus infection, physical trauma or drugs, then it was most likely the result of extreme exhaustion and should clear up as your body rests and recovers. Did you have any questions for me?"

He shook his head. "No, but thank you for coming. You're right; I really didn't want to go to a hospital, and I'm sure it will put Christine's mind at ease to know someone's checked me out."

"It's thoughtful of you to care about Chris' mindset, but right now, Spencer, the person you need to be most concerned about is yourself. Take care of yourself first. And for God's sake, if you need to talk to someone, do it! Keeping it all bottled up will only stress you and everyone around you out more, okay?"

"Yes. Okay."

"Alright," she said, struggling a little to get her pregnant body up out of the chair. "Come on." He followed her out of the room to Christine's office where Diana announced, "Well, he's tired and he's sore, and he may have a concussion. He doesn't seem to want to get it checked out, but I would strongly advise you get him in for an MRI as soon as possible just to be sure. Chris, you know the signs, so if anything changes with him you drag him into an emergency room whether he wants to go or not."

Christine sighed and looked unhappily at both of them. "Alright. We'll discuss it. Thanks for coming by so late. I'll show you out…"

As the two women left the room, Alex started to open her mouth. Not wanting to answer any questions about himself, Spencer quickly asked, "So what are the three of you working on so intently tonight?"

"So," Joe said, "we've had to cancel some shows, and now we're trying to rebook them and issue refunds. But we've also been hoping to speak with you, as well. We were all wondering how far out we'll need to clear Chris' schedule so we can start letting theaters and ticketholders know."

"Well," he replied, wincing a little as he sat down. "I plan to be back at work next week, so I would imagine you shouldn't need to cancel any more shows than you already have."

They both stared at him for a brief moment before Joe said, "Dude- it's okay. She's okay with it, we're okay with it, and judging by the majority of the emails we've received, her fans are pretty okay with it, too. Family comes first, man, and if you need us-"

"What I need," Spencer said irritably, "is to get back to normal. That means everyone needs to stop babying me. I'm not a child. I'm a grown man- a man who just wants to get back to work and back to my routine. That's what I need right now, not your coddling."

"Sweetheart," Christine said softly from the doorway behind him. "Joe just has your best interests at heart. There's no need to holler at him. You and I can discuss this further, privately."

"And for pity's sake, what is that wretched smell?" Spencer exclaimed.

"That would be Laurie's cooking," Christine replied. "She's frying perch downstairs. I thought you liked fried fish…"

"Oh, God," he groaned as he stood up and pushed past Christine and out of the room, "I think I'm going to be sick…!"

"What the hell…?" Joe said quietly.

"Don't question it. Just tell go down and tell Laurie to get the fish out of the house. Turn on the fans and spray some Febreeze. Y'all go out for dinner tonight on me. I'll deal with him."

She went into their bedroom, shut the door and sat on the bed, listening to Spencer wretch in the bathroom. When he had finished, he came out to see her sitting there and said abashedly, "That was rather bad form, wasn't it? I…I should really apologize to Laurie, shouldn't I?"

Christine shook her head. "No. There's no need."

"You see, when I…you know…where he kept me…it…it always smelled like fish. Rotten, stinking, burning fish, and I…I guess I just…"

Christine held out her hand and had him sit down beside her. "I figured it was something like that. Smell is funny that way. For me, it's Glade Spring Meadow air freshener. My mother used to spray that in the bathroom every time one of our goldfish died and we had to flush it down the toilet. To every other human being on earth it smells like flowers, but to me it smells like dead fish. And that was just because of stupid goldfish. For you…well, you had a hell of a lot more on the line than a fish you'd won at the school fair. So it is totally understandable you wouldn't want to smell it. No one's judging you, least of all me."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to be the object of everyone's pity..."

"A refusal to pass judgment is not the same as pity, Spencer, nor are empathy or compassion. They are simply recognition of the fact that you are, just like the rest of us, a human being. And every human being on this planet sooner or later is forced to deal with some pretty tough shit. If it had been Joe who'd been through what you'd been through, and he suddenly got sick because of the smell of fish, would you think less of him? No? Well then, trust me when I tell you that none of us think less of you for it. I mean, don't you believe that we all love and care about you?"

"Yes," he said quietly. "Of course I do."

"Than try to remember that what we do and say, we do and say out of love and concern, even if we don't always get it right. Okay?"

He nodded.

"Now then, is the smell still bothering you in here?" she asked.

"No. Not in here."

"Is there anything you _would_ like to eat, or are you still sorta queasy right now?"

He thought for a moment and replied, "I could go for some pancakes, if you don't mind. No eggs or bacon with them. Just pancakes. With butter and syrup."

"Waffles have those little squares that hold even more syrup in them, you know…"

He managed a little smile. "Even better."

"And I'm going to go ahead and assume we should probably eat up here while the kitchen smells air out, huh?"

"If you don't mind…"

"Not at all. And hey, look at me. I love you, okay?" she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

"In that case, I need some more coffee, too," he said, smiling.

She made a face. "Seriously, dude?"

"Yes, seriously. Unless, of course, you didn't truly mean that whole, 'whatever you need,' bit…"

"Oh, alright," she grumbled, taking his empty cup from him as she stood and walked towards the door.

"And don't make it the way you make it. Make it the way Alex makes it, please!" he called as she walked out the door, and chuckled as she raised a single finger to him in response.

* * *

A/N

This chapter takes place immediately after the conclusion of season 2, episode 15, "Revelations". While the extent of Reid's physical injuries were never discussed in that or subsequent episodes, I did watch scenes of him being beaten repeatedly and based my descriptions of them on what I was actually seen on camera except for one- the second blow to his head was never shown, but must have been severe enough to render him unconscious.


	29. Chapter 29

It was the pain that woke Spencer up the following day. Typically he was a side sleeper; this night he had tried to remain on his back due his fractured ribs, which made it uncomfortable for him to remain in other positions for very long. But inevitably he had turned over, and the pain he caused himself in doing so roused him from sleep. He heard himself groan aloud and immediately opened his eyes, worried he had woken Christine. She, however, was nowhere to be seen. Wincing, he sat up and put on his glasses. It appeared to be midday already, but the house was unusually silent. He stood up and went to the bathroom, and when he came out, he heard a soft scratching at the bedroom door. He opened it and said to Spud, "Well, you might as well come on in; it seems I'm not the only one they all forgot about."

The cat immediately jumped on the bed, curled up in the warm spot where he'd just been laying, and closed its eyes. He sighed a little, disconcerted that he couldn't now make the bed without battling the cat, which he simply felt too tired to bother with. Instead, he dressed himself and opened the door. "Come on, boy," he said, slapping his thigh, and Spud jumped down again and followed him out.

He was yawning as he passed Christine's office and nearly jumped in surprise when he saw Joe sitting at his sister's desk, staring at the screen on his laptop. "Since when have you worn glasses?" he asked.

"Good morning to you, too," Joe answered, glancing up from the screen. "Or good afternoon. Whatever. Anyway, to answer your question, I've had them since I was 13 years old. You've just never seen me with them."

"What made you start wearing them now?" Spencer asked as he sat down.

"That," he replied, pointing at Spud who was preparing to jump onto Spencer's lap. "That…that… _thing_ got into my bag and chewed up my contacts, the mangy little menace! You'd have thought he'd have sniffed out the stash of Slim Jims I keep in there but no- he had to gnaw on my contacts! Can you believe that shit? The hell is wrong with that animal?"

"I can't be sure, but if I were to venture a guess I'd say that he has an ability to sense which personal possessions an individual might be most inconvenienced to lose, and then he destroys them. Believe it or not, he did the same thing to mine last autumn."

"No shit. Really?"

"Yeah," Spencer said. The word sort of hung in the air as the two men fell into awkward silence. Spencer looked down at Spud as he scratched his head, but he could feel Joe's gaze on him, waiting for him to speak again. Finally he asked, "So where is everyone right now?"

"Oh, I think Alex went out for coffee or something with that guy- what's his name? The tall, quiet dude?"

"Anderson. Grant Anderson."

"Yeah yeah. Him. He's seems nice enough. What's going on between the two of them?"

Spencer shrugged. "You probably know more about it than I do- you've spent more time around her than I lately, anyway. They've gone out a few times, I guess. And, um, where's your sister?" he asked somewhat sheepishly.

Joe smiled at him. "Don't worry. I heard about your discussion last night, and what I think you're asking is if she's angry with and avoiding you, but she's not. Well, I mean, I think she's not exactly _happy_ with you, but that's not why she's not here. Diana went into labor this morning, and Chris went to be with her. She said you were out cold, so she just let you sleep. She had a little girl a just over an hour ago. I guess they named her Alice."

"Oh?" Spencer said, his mood lightening a little. "And everyone is well?"

"Yep. Mother and baby are just fine."

"Wow. Well, that's really wonderful news!" There was another uncomfortable pause and Spencer asked, "So, how about Laurie? Is she still here?"

"No," Joe said, leaning back in his chair. "No, I drove her back home this morning. She's finding this whole deal with growing a new human is a real drain on her energy, and she'll get more rest in our own home."

"So you came back here just to…"

"Yeah," Joe said, "We've still got a bunch of work to do with rescheduling the tour dates. And now Chris tells me that you just want to send her back out on the road again already?"

Spencer shifted a little in his seat then looked up and met Joe's eyes. "Yes. I think it was a very generous offer of her to take more time off to be with me, but I believe it's unnecessary. I'm planning to return to work Monday as usual, so it's not as if I need a nursemaid. Besides, I know it's been hard enough for the three of you to cancel your plans and rearrange everything on my account. It's added a lot of stress to all of your lives, especially Christine's, and I feel terribly about that. I can't ask-"

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa," Joe said, holding up his hand. "Why should _you_ feel bad about that? You didn't do that. It's not like you planned for all this to happen, right?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why feel bad about it? No," he said as Spencer started to open his mouth. "Shut up and listen for a change and maybe you might learn something for once. See, you don't have much family, so maybe you don't know how this shit works, but I can assure you that this is just what people do. When one person is in trouble, everyone else just drops whatever they're doing. That's just how it's done, man. You don't need to feel bad or like you're a burden on any of us, because we love you. And if it had been one of your other coworkers instead of you that went through that, wouldn't you put the rest of your life on hold to try and help them out? Of course you would! That's what they've been doing. Those two girls…what the hell is wrong with me? I can't remember names. But the colorful one with the glasses and the little, skinny blonde one? You know who I'm talking about. Anyway, they were here this morning before work trying to bring you cookies and flowers. And all the rest of them have been calling, trying to find out how you are. That's just what people do when they care about someone. That's not a burden, and you don't need to feel bad about it."

Spencer pressed his lips together then said, "Yes, well, I appreciate that. Still, life goes on, and Christine has a job to do- we all do. And I stand by my assertion to her that the best thing for all of us to do is simply to get back to work. Putting all that aside to look after me will only cause everyone more stress, not less, and that includes me. My colleagues already handle me with kid gloves as though I were a child; it is not my desire to further cultivate in them this opinion of me."

Joe gave him a crooked smile. "I kinda get that. I've heard your buddy calling you 'kid' all the time and stuff. I think it's ironic though- I mean, you're more mature than me, and I'm six years older than you! Still, if you need to take care of yourself, then you need to do it, no matter what anyone thinks of you."

Spencer sighed. "Yes, well, I know that. And to be perfectly honest, I really think that what I need right now is some peace and quiet. But I think you know as well as I that as long as Christine's around that's simply not what I'm going to get. I can't tell her that without offending her more, but right now I feel what's best for me is to just have some time to myself to process everything I've been through. Getting back to my work routine and having some quiet time in the evenings is what I feel is best for me right now."

"I hear you, but it seems to me that self-isolating is exactly what you _shouldn't_ do right now. I mean, I'm no psychologist, but-"

"And I _do_ have a degree in psychology," Spencer shot back, "so I think I know a little more than you do about such matters! I know how you all operate- you laugh and goof off all night, sleep late, then get up and watch some daytime TV and suddenly you think that because you've seen a few dozen episodes of Dr. Phil that you're qualified to pass judgment on my mental and emotional health! Your sister is even worse- she did one three week psych rotation six years ago and now believes she knows better than I what I need to do for the sake of my own sanity! But you know what, Joe? This is _my_ life. It's _my_ mind and _my_ sanity and this is _my_ decision regarding how I wish to deal with it!" He stopped, feeling a twinge of guilt at the look of shock and hurt he saw on his friend's face. "Look, I just want to get on with my life! Please, just back me up on this, Joe. Once I've had some time to think about it all I'm sure I'll eventually share everything that happened to me with you- with both of you. But for God's sake, just give me some room to breathe for a while first, okay?"

Joe shrugged, feeling defeated. "Yeah, sure. Okay. If that's what you want then…yeah. I'll back you up. I'll let everyone know the tour is going to continue next week. I haven't cancelled Tuesday's show yet, and the venue has been waiting on a call from me. So I'll confirm that one now and…and I guess we'll all be out of your hair on Monday."

"Thank you," Spencer replied, pushing Spud gently off his lap and standing up. "I appreciate that."

"Yeah, no problem," Joe replied turning his attention back to his computer as Spencer walked out the door to find something to eat with Spud trotting faithfully after him.

A few hours later, sometime after sunset, he was in the library grumbling over his CD collection, trying to decide what to listen to- he wanted to relax and read, but he couldn't shake the feeling of restlessness and irritability that had come upon him long enough to focus his full attention on anything more complicated than a magazine. He took issue with every CD he looked at; he wanted something gentle and soothing, but inevitably every symphony, every concerto, every oratorio, every collection of waltzes or arias- they all contained some piece within them that was dark, foreboding, aggressive or simply too spirited to suit his current mood. He wanted something pleasant and relaxing and bland. He groaned in frustration and thought briefly of the vials he had hidden away upstairs. Those he knew for certain would relax him. He stopped when he heard a car pull up and listened, guessing it must be Christine; Alex had returned a short while earlier, looking rather downcast. Something was troubling her, and he suspected it had something to do with Agent Anderson, but he hadn't bothered to ask what it was. As much as he cared for Alex, he couldn't bear the thought of dealing with one more woman's tears and sorrows. He'd had enough of that with Christine the night before, when she had asked him, then begged him, then demanded that he stay home from work longer. They'd argued in circles about the matter until he had raised his voice to her and she lay down on the bed in tears. He'd apologized to her for speaking harshly, but he wasn't sorry for wanting to do what he wanted to do. He neither needed nor wanted anyone to pity and coddle him; he just wanted to get back to his life as it had been just earlier that week. He heard the front door open and listened as she spoke with Joe, presumably about him, then listened as her footsteps faded away up the far staircase towards Alex's room. He turned his attention back to his music and chose an album of Mozart's concertos for French horn and settled down to read and enjoy some tea.

He read slowly, much more so than was his wont, for he still couldn't keep his mind on his book. He sat there for minutes at a time without turning a page, wondering if he should go and try to talk to the Christine or if in doing so he would only start another argument and say something he'd regret. After a half an hour or so the door to the library opened and he looked up to see Christine. She didn't make eye contact with him, and from the angle of his chair and the loose hair around her face he couldn't get a good read on her expression or mood. She simply walked over and set a box of cookies on the table by his chair and said quietly, "Saw these today and thought you might like the snack."

He caught her hand as she started to leave and said, "Please dear, sit with me for a moment." She didn't reply but pulled a blanket that was folded over the back of the sofa around herself and sat down with her legs tucked under her. He couldn't help but smile at her; she looked sweetly comical wrapped up with that blanket up to her chin, like a big quilted pillow with red hair spilling out the top. He could see now that she wasn't angry with him. She looked terribly tired, and perhaps disappointed, but not angry.

"I heard about Diana," he began.

Christine smiled. "Yeah, she's doing great. They both are. It's a little girl."

"I heard that. Alice, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah…you know, I never really understood the fascination with seeing a woman give birth. Everyone always says it's some kind of miracle, but to me it always seemed more like a big jumbled mess of blood, guts, hair and eyeballs while some poor woman screams like she's being murdered, and the babies themselves are never cute. They're all red and wrinkled and misshapen. But I guess when it happens to someone you love then…then it is pretty amazing. And Alice is a pretty cute little bugger, too, I guess."

"Wow. Well, that's great to hear," Spencer replied, before they both lapsed into awkward silence. He fumbled for the cookies and held them out to her saying, "Would you like one?"

"No, I got some of my own. Those were for you."

"Oh, sure," he said, looking at the package and suddenly feeling foolish, "because these, ah, have chocolate…"

She smiled gently. "Yeah. Hey- is there any more of that tea in the room here?" she asked, pointing to his cup.

"Yes, it's in the drawer to the right of the machine," he replied, watching as she got up to get some hot water. "So, um…look. We should probably talk about…about…you know, about our conversation from last night…

"Oh? Why? Is there anything left to say?" she said coolly, without turning around.

"Well, for starters, I'd like to say I'm sorry for hurting your feelings. I was a little brusque with you last night."

She gave a derisive laugh as she put the tea in her water and walked back over to the sofa. "Brusque. That's a rather genteel word to hang on it now, isn't it?" She took a sip, looking at him over the edge of her cup as she did so.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Okay, so maybe I was rather rude," he said.

"Rude? Yeah. Rude. You told me that my cheap paper certificate from a second-rate institution didn't qualify me to advise you on your health and welfare considering I'd done nothing since graduation other than perform like a clown in bars for people too inebriated to know what true humor really is."

He winced when she brought up his own words and started to say something, but she held up her hand to stop him. "No, you know what, Spencer? You're right. You are exactly, entirely correct. I, unlike yourself, do not have a degree in psychology, and my career is, quite literally, a joke. I also have no idea what you went through this week, because you cannot or will not tell me. These are facts. But there is one thing, sir, that I am absolutely certain of, just as sure as I am that my clownish behavior has paid for this roof over our heads and the tea in our cups, and it is this- the Spencer Reid I know would never have spoken to me like that. Because you and I, we have had our fair share of arguments, disagreements and spirited debates, but not once have you _ever_ even come close to saying or doing anything to intentionally hurt, demean or belittle me in any way. I don't know who it was that I was speaking to last night, but that wasn't you."

As she raised her cup to her lips again, he said, "I…I just…I don't know what came over me. Please believe me when I tell you I am so very sorry for that. You didn't deserve that…"

"You're right again. I didn't. But even I, with my second-rate education, am smart enough to know that when a person is under stress and in pain they are apt to do and say things that they otherwise would never do. And I can hardly fathom the world of hurt you're in right now. So I totally get that. It kinda sucks to be at the receiving end when someone lashes out, but it is what it is. But you need to remember this, Spencer- I love you. I mean that very deeply and sincerely. So while you and I may disagree that you should return to work so quickly, don't you dare misconstrue any of my intentions to mean that I don't respect you, that I think I know better than you, or that I'm trying to control you, because that is simply not the case. When I suggested you take some time off and get some counseling it is only because I care about you- nothing more and nothing less. You say that what's best for you is to be left alone and to get back to your routine, and on this point I will again say that I respectfully disagree, but ultimately it is your choice. You are a grown man, and I can't force you to do or not do anything. But don't you ever think that my advice comes from anything other than a place of love, care and concern, got it?"

Spencer nodded and replied quietly, "Yes."

"Bitchin'," Christine said and sipped her tea.

"So, um…if you don't mind my asking- is everything okay with Alex?" he asked tentatively.

"Oh, sure. Well, relatively speaking, anyway. I guess Grant's grandmother fell and broke a hip, so she's upset partly because he's upset and partly because it got her thinking and worrying about her own grandma. But I told her there's a big difference between his frail, 81 year old grandma getting hurt and her perfectly healthy and active 66 year old grandma getting hurt, you know? At that age, ten or fifteen years and their general health and activity level makes a huge difference in their prognosis, know what I mean?"

"Yes, I believe so. I was just a little worried that she was upset because, well, because…"

"Because she senses a disturbance in the force here at home?"

He smiled a little. "That's one way to put it, yes."

"Well, of course. I mean, look. We've had a pretty rough week, too. Not like _you've_ had, but there was a period there when, honestly, we didn't know if we'd _ever_ get you back, and it scared us to death! Then we see you and you look like you got just got your ass handed to you in a cage match. Now you've been acting hinky, which is kinda understandable, I guess, and I'm sure she deduced that you and I had words last night. God bless her, she's a sweet girl, but she takes everyone else's troubles too much to heart sometimes. She did want me to talk to you about something, though…"

Spencer raised his eyebrows and looked at Christine, just as he was about to bite into a cookie. "Oh? What would that be?"

"When we leave next week, she's willing to leave Spud here with you, if you want his company."

"Oh, I…gee, that's very kind of her, but…"

"Eh, she just noticed that he's the only one you seem not to be perpetually aggravated by right now. Anyway, Spud's a weird cat, but he's soft, warm and fuzzy and he'll only ever sit and judge you in cat-like silence. So he's yours for the time being, if you want him."

Spencer looked down at the cup of tea in his hands for a moment before replying, "Yes, well, that…that would be nice, actually. Although I'm not sure how I'll care for him if we get a case."

"I don't think you need to worry about that. Brad's got the security code, so he can always come and dump a little food in his dish if he needs it. Or Grant. I think he'd be happy to do it as a favor to Alex- and to you too, for that matter."

Spencer nodded, still looking down. "Yes. Yes, okay. I think I'd like that very much."

"Sounds like a plan, then. I'll let her know." With that, Christine gulped down the last of her tea, set her cup down and raised her arms above her head to stretch them. "Anything else?" she asked.

"Only," he began hesitantly, "only that I'd like to say thank you. Thank you for understanding, or if you don't understand, thank you at least for respecting my wishes. And," he continued, his voice dropping to a little more than a whisper, "and thank you for caring about me."

Christine stood with her hands on her hips, her head tilted to the side a little as she looked at him, smiling gently. "Spencer, sweetheart- of course I care. I love you." She took a few steps over to where he sat and lifted his face. As she held it in her hands she said, "Hey, look at me. I mean that. I love you. You- you've been through some pretty heavy shit, and right now you're feeling all kinds of hurt. I get it. Whatever you said…I'm over it, and I'm not angry. I just wanna help. So when you're ready and you need someone to help you carry all that, I'll be here, alright?" She stroked his cheek for a moment then kissed him on the forehead and said, "It's been a long day, and I'm exhausted. I'm gonna go lay down now. Don't be up too late, okay?"

Spencer merely nodded and watched her walk out the door.

After changing into some old sweat pants and a t-shirt, Christine washed her face and stood looking at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She felt utterly worn out and at the end of her rope. Her physical fatigue was one thing- and even that wasn't _so_ bad. But she felt completely at a loss with Spencer. Clearly, she thought, there was something else going on with him. He was right- she wasn't a psychologist; she didn't know what to expect his reaction to be to the trauma he'd suffered, nor did she know the precise and proper course of action for him to pursue for recovery. However, of one thing she was certain- there was definitely _something_ very wrong with him. His refusal to speak with her about anything that happened to him, his constant state of irritability with everyone and everything except the cat, his self-imposed isolation- it seemed quite clear he'd been traumatized, no matter how many times he insisted he was fine. And then there were his sleep patterns. Those bothered her, and she couldn't quite figure out why. She spat the toothpaste out, rinsed and held a towel to her face, still staring and pondering. It was understandable that he wanted to sleep for a long time for the first day, and maybe even the second…hell, if he'd been anyone else, she'd have thought it was perfectly understandable even if he slept 15 hours a day for a week. But not him. That wasn't the Spencer she knew. He could work for days on end with little more than a few naps grabbed in airplane seats, at his desk, or curled up on an old couch in some police station somewhere and always be able to wake and be perfectly mentally lucid and sharp at any moment of the day or night. But this morning when Diana had called to say her water broke, not only had he slept through the ringing of the phone, but when she had given his shoulder a little shake so she could tell him where she was going, she couldn't get more than an incoherent mumble out of him before he fell back to softly snoring.

It was his snoring that troubled her. Had he been anyone else, she'd have almost written it off as simply being normal for sleep; it was barely more than deep breathing and didn't affect her ability to sleep. However, while the snoring in and of itself didn't her, the fact that _he_ did it troubled her. She couldn't pinpoint why it did. She shook her head. No, she must just be imagining it. _He's exhausted. Hell, he's beyond exhausted_ , she told herself. _He has every right to be, and it's completely reasonable for him to sleep long and deeply. What is unreasonable is for you to be expecting him to just bounce right back and snap out of whatever funk he's in right away. If he wants his space, then maybe he just needs some space. So just give him his fucking space, Chris!_ She sighed and snapped off the light before walking out of the bathroom and exclaiming, "Whoa!" and grabbing her chest.

"Sorry," Spencer said, as he sat on the bed, already in his pajamas. "I didn't mean to startle you…"

"You scared the shit out of me is what you did," she said, managing a chuckle.

"I just thought, well…I thought if you were going to bed, I might as well, too. I need to get back into a normal sleep rhythm eventually, right?"

She sat down beside him and kissed his cheek. "You don't _need_ to do anything right now except take care of yourself. If that entails you sleeping, then sleep…"

He put his arm around her waist and leaned against her. "Yes. Sleep is part of it, although there are other reasons I like being in bed with you…"

She sat back and looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Really? As banged up as you are right now, you're really in the mood?"

He smiled shyly. "Well," he said, reaching out to caress her cheek, "I…I will tell you something now about my, uh, captivity…" He pressed his lips together for a moment then continued haltingly, as though trying to choke back tears, "When he had me, there were…there were times when…when I wasn't sure myself if I would make it out of there alive. But then…then I thought of you. And in that moment, all I wanted was to come home and be with you again." He leaned in so that their foreheads touched as the tears began to run down his cheeks. "I…I still don't know what to think of it all, the whole experience. Maybe someday I will and can tell you about it, but…but right now, I'm just very, very sorry that I spoke so harshly with you. Please forgive me. You have to know I didn't mean it…"

She put her arms around his next and pulled him in close. "I know you didn't, sweetheart. And I'm so sorry you're hurting…" She gave him a long, sweet kiss and said, "Come on now, let's get you under the covers…"

After they'd both crawled into bed together, she began to pluck at the buttons on his pajama top but he caught her hands in his. "Don't, please. I…I have some bruises and…"

"Okay, I understand," she replied and began to wriggle out of her own bedclothes.

"I hope you don't mind being on top this time…"

She smiled playfully. "Not at all! You know how I like to be in charge…" She pulled down his pajama bottoms and climbed astride him as he ran his hands from her shoulders and over her breasts before finally grasping her hips and pulling her down on to him.

They didn't make love as long or as vigorously as they usually did, as they were both cautious about causing him undue pain. When they had finished, she leaned down and kissed him again and teased, "Ah, you're such a messy boy, aren't you? Now I have to go tidy up again!" With that, she got out of bed and marched into the bathroom. After she flushed, she pulled out a brush and began the task of taming her wild mop of hair into a braid she could stand to sleep in. As she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw Spencer coming out of the closet and climbing back into bed. "Everything okay, Sparky?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," he mumbled softly as he laid down. By the time she'd laid aside her own glasses and turned out the light on her nightstand, he was sound asleep. Soon thereafter he began to snore again.

* * *

On Monday morning they both rose early. By the time Spencer had finished showering and dressing, Christine was already downstairs with Alex, Joe and their bags. Christine was scheduled to perform in Little Rock on Tuesday night- a nearly 15 hour drive from Virginia. Joe had worked through the weekend to reschedule the cancelled shows while Christine sifted through a mountain of emails and phone messages from fans, venues and reporters, both offering words of encouragement and looking for information about the nature of her "family emergency". Spencer was thankful that she respected his privacy and said publically only that "someone very dear to me was in a dangerous situation and is now recovering and in good condition."

As Joe and Christine loaded their things and some snacks for the road, Alex gave instructions to Spencer about caring for Spud, including his feeding schedule, how to administer his medication- apparently, Spud was receiving ear drops for which he needed to be held firmly and in a specific way so that he didn't immediately shake his head and fling it all out- and a list of emergency contacts that included three vets, two animal hospitals, and all neighbors within a mile radius who could be depended upon to check in on the animal if necessary. Spencer stood listening to her fretfully explaining everything, fighting back his growing annoyance. He forced himself to feign great concern before she finally concluded, "Well, I guess that's it. Mommy's going to miss you! But you'll be a good boy for Uncle Spencer now, won't you, Spuddy Buddy?" She kissed the animal in her arms before setting him down tearfully and running out to the van.

He turned when he heard Christine laughingly say, " _Spuddy Buddy_? Seriously? That's a new one!"

Spencer sighed and said, "Honestly- does she think that I can be trusted with a gun and a badge but not with her cat?"

"Oh, you know her- that animal is like a child to her. They've hardly been apart since she adopted him!"

He rolled his eyes. "I guess…"

"Come on now," she said, putting her arms around his waist. "I think Joe's getting antsy, so kiss me good bye." He did so and she said, "And promise me that if anything happens, if you need any help or just feel like talking to someone, you'll pick up the phone and get that help, okay? Any of us can be here as fast as we can fly, and I've left a list of highly recommended therapists who-"

He took a step back and waved his hand. "Please, stop. Just…stop worrying about me. I'm fine. I'll be alright."

"I just…" she stopped herself and frowned, then said, "okay. If you say so. But there's help if the need arises."

"I know."

She gave him a peck on the cheek before walking out the door and climbing in the van. As the van pulled off, Joe thought how different this departure was to those they normally took. Usually, everyone was very keyed up, full of laughter and excited to go on another adventure. This time, however, they we all silent, the two women looking sadly out the windows, and he anxious with his own thoughts of Laurie and the recent downturn in her health. She had a doctor's appointment scheduled that afternoon, and he prayed silently for good news. Looking over at his sister he said, "Try not to worry so much. Everything will be just fine," to himself as much as to her.

"Will it?" she asked softly. "It's as though instead of getting Spencer back, all I got was the empty shell he used to live in…"


	30. Chapter 30

Spencer came home from their case in New Orleans feeling more utterly spent than ever. He headed straight to the bedroom with Spud following close behind him. All he wanted was sleep. He felt sick, so sick. Sick in his heart and in his mind and in his soul. Sick of the brutality he'd witnessed in the previous weeks, sick of everyone around him looking at him accusatorily and judgmentally, pertending as if they knew anything about the hell he'd felt trapped in from the first moment he woke up in Tobias Hankel's cabin and how he should deal with it. They knew nothing of what he was going through- who the hell were they to judge him? He was even sick of Christine. He texted her daily just to let her know that yes, he was still alive, so that she'd stay off his back and keep her nose out of his business. Every few days he actually spoke with her. At those times he knew she was making an effort to just be oh-so-pleasant and sweet and caring. She never ranted hilariously about whatever ridiculous situation they had managed to get themselves into in their travels anymore. It was as if she thought he couldn't be trusted to hear an angry or discouraging word, as if she no longer trusted that he was a grown man, fully capable of spirited conversation, much less a man who upon whom she could rely to help her unburden her own daily stresses. He felt now as though she only thought of him as a helpless, innocent child in need of sheltering from the hard realities of life in the world of adults. But he _was_ a man, dammit! _He_ hadn't been changed by Hankel- _she_ had. _She_ was the scared and traumatized one, not him. Everyone else had changed as well. They all tip-toed around him. All he wanted was to be normal again. He was sick to death of all of their simpering, over-wrought concern for him. Sick! So sick all he could think of was sleep, and escaping from it all.

He closed the door as Spud hopped onto the bed, then tore off his tie, his shirt, everything but his underpants, and tossed them each one by one over the back of a chair. After brushing his teeth and taking out his contacts, he was headed to the closet when his phone rang. He sighed heavily and picked it up, then groaned inwardly when he saw who was calling. Nevertheless, he answered it as calmly as he could manage, saying, "Hello?""

"Hey, sweet cheeks," Christine said, cheerfully. "How the hell are you?"

"Oh, I'm just fine, dear," Spencer replied.

"Really? Because you sound god-awful tired, Sparky…"

"Well, of course I'm tired. I just barely walked in the door from work."

"Yeah, I know- the New Orleans case, right? I just worry about you, that's all. You work too hard…"

"You don't need to worry about me working too hard. I'm used to it. Speaking of work, shouldn't you be doing that right about now?"

"Oh, that?" she chuckled. "Nah, I actually just finished my set!"

"What about the meet and greet, or aren't you doing that tonight?"

"No," she said, "no, I'm still doing that. But I wanted to call you first- you know, catch you before you fall asleep. Besides, the longer I take in getting out there, the more time Joe has to sell the merch! So how've you been?"

"You've already asked me that, and I've already told you- I'm fine. How are Alex and Joe?"

"Oh, Alex is Alex. She's great. She misses the damned cat, though. She told me to tell you to hug him for her. Oh! And she wanted me to ask if you got the postcard she sent?"

"Yes," he said, smiling faintly. The postcard had been from a zoo they had visited and bore a photograph of tigers on it. It had only had a brief message on the back; Alex detested handwriting anything, and her script was rather large and childlike, besides. But what had given him a chuckle was that it had been addressed to "Mr. Spud McNally c/o Dr. Spencer Reid" and he, for his part, had indeed read her little note aloud to the cat when it had arrived. "Yes, I got it. We got it. Tell her I believe Spud liked it very much, as well. How's Joe?"

"Well," she said hesitantly, the sunniness in her voice starting to evaporate, "he's as good as can be expected under the circumstances."

"Under _what_ circumstances?" he asked, feeling his irritability now being replaced with genuine concern.

"He just heard today that Laurie's OB has ordered her to be put on bed rest, so he's on the next flight out of here…"

"Oh no. What is it?"

"Eh, preeclampsia. She'd been struggling with nausea and headaches, and the changes in her diet just weren't helping. Her blood pressure was sky high at her last appointment, so she just needs to stop everything, which of course means she needs him there to take care of her."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, dear," he said, suddenly feeling quite helpless.

"We all are, Sparky. But at least there's one bright spot, which is that the baby's development is still perfectly normal. So it sucks for Laurie that she's gotta go through this, but the little one is fine, so yay for that, right?"

"Yes, at least that's good news, though I suppose it puts more strain on you now…"

"Eh, sure, but that's secondary. Joe's been teaching Alex how to use the video camera, and we just bought her her own laptop this week so that she can send him footage to edit, because we knew he'd be taking time off eventually anyway. She and I will just have to learn some of this faster, I guess. Ideally I'd like to get my hands on the software he uses and learn it myself, because no matter how strongly he insists he can do all this from home, I just know he won't be able to. And he shouldn't have to. He should focus his attention on his wife and child right now. Alex and I can muddle through…"

"Yes, well, I'm sure you're right."

"So," she began tentatively after a brief pause, "how's everything there? Any idea when we might be able to see you again?"

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, happy she wasn't there to actually see his reaction to the question. "Chris- you know how it is. I'm busy. We've had a series of very demanding cases in the last three weeks, and frankly I simply don't know when I'll be able to visit you."

"Yeah. Yeah, I get that. It's just…I miss you, you know?"

"You mean you're worried about me, isn't that it?" he said, annoyed.

"No…no, that's not it. Well, maybe it is a little but-"

"Oh, stop! Just stop it! Stop constantly worrying about me!"

"Hey! Hold on, Spencer! This is not about…it's not entirely about what happened. I've _always_ worried about you! I'm _always_ concerned about you, because, uh, news flash, genius: I love you. And whenever we're not together I think about you and worry about you because I care about you!"

He rolled his eyes. "I just get the feeling as though you're waiting for me to completely fall apart, but I can assure you that is _not_ happening!"

"Really? Really, dude? Because once upon a time, not so very long ago, we spent as much time together as we possibly could because- and please correct me if I'm wrong, because God knows I'm not the one with the eidetic memory- but as I recall, we actually used to _like_ spending time together. Was I just imagining all that, or am I correct in my observation that something has, in fact, changed between us? If I'm wrong, then please correct me, darling, because I'd hate to be suffering under some crazy delusion here!"

He pressed his lips together and clenched his free fist to control his temper, then said, "No, you're right. I apologize. Perhaps I am finding it a bit harder than I expected to be back at work. It does seem to be more taxing to me than before. So please, try and understand and be patient with me, alright? Please. I know it's fun to see you when you're on the road, but honestly, at the end of the work week I simply feel so utterly spent that the prospect of then immediately dashing off to the airport for an entire sleepless weekend isn't exactly appealing to me at the moment."

"Yeah, I suppose I understand that. But it's true, Sparky. I miss you. I just do. And I can't wait for us to be, well, us again."

"I know. I want that, too. Just…give me a little time, okay? I'm sure we'll find some time to get together soon."

"I hope so."

"We will."

"Well, uh…I suppose I should let you go then…"

"Yeah, go sign a few autographs and spend some time with Joe before he leaves. Tell him I wish him and his family all the best."

"I will. I love you, Spencer."

"I love you too, Christine. Good night."

"Good night."

He hung up the phone and sighed heavily. As he laid it aside, he sat and pondered their conversation and suddenly felt overwhelmed with guilt. She was right, after all. There had been a time, in very near past, when it had seemed perfectly normal to both of them to want to spend every possible moment together. Back then, if she had called and asked him to come see her, he'd have been in his car and on the way to the airport immediately, excited to have the chance to simply enjoy being close to her. Now he felt sick, sick and tired and weary to his core all the time. Maybe he _had_ changed. Who the hell knew? All he knew at that moment was that he was unwilling and incapable of thinking of any of it one minute longer. He dragged himself to his feet and into the closet.

* * *

Another month went by so quickly, it seemed, that Spencer could hardly tell how much time had passed. Each day at work felt interminably long, while each night and weekend were spent in oblivion, chasing sleep and peace that never seemed to refresh him, until they got a case the first week of April in Baltimore.

Baltimore. It was home now to a sizable Russian and Ukrainian immigrant population, and their victim's family had ties to Prentiss' mother. But that's not all that Baltimore meant to him. Baltimore was Joe's home. Joe, who was his friend and whom he considered practically a member of his own family. He went to work and did his job and helped reunited a kidnapping victim with his wife. But the victim's family was forever broken now- his own daughter had betrayed him, and the victim was forever scarred, inside and out, by what had happened to him. He kept himself together as best he could for as long as anyone's eyes were upon him, but when he got home, he couldn't stand it any longer. He couldn't bear to think one second more about the kidnapped man, the broken trust, the secrets and lies and sorrows of that family. He went immediately up to the bedroom, tore off his clothes, and left them by the side of the bed. After he had brushed his teeth and taken out his contacts, he went into the closet. He came out wearing just a t-shirt and his underpants, pushed Spud over to Christine's side of the bed, and abandoned himself to sleep, relieved that it was Friday, and that he didn't have to wake for a damned thing in the morning.

He knew nothing more until the next day. Even before he opened his eyes he knew the sun had risen and light was filling the room. He yawned, rolled over, and reached one hand out towards the warmth on the other side of the bed to stroke Spud. Everyone and everything seemed to irritate him these days but Spud. He found the cat's silky fur and soft body perfectly soothing. But as he reached, he suddenly stopped. It wasn't Spud's fur he was feeling. His eyes flew open and saw his own fingers tangled in a mass of curly red hair. Shocked, he immediately sat up and grabbed his glasses, causing her to yawn and turn and open her eyes with a smile.

"Well," Christine said pleasantly enough, "good morning to you, too, sunshine!"

"You…you're…uh," he stammered, "you're…you're here! How…what…what are you doing here?"

She laughed and sat up. "I do still live here, you know," she teased as she put on her own glasses.

"Yes, of course," he said, standing up to grab his shirt from the chair and throw it on. "But what are you doing here now? Aren't you supposed to be in Detroit tonight?"

She looked at him quizzically and laughed a little. "What's with you, sweetheart? You act like you're afraid to see me again. For God's sake, sit down!" She watched him as he complied and continued, "Anyway, it's a funny thing, that. I was on stage last night when I heard this pop somewhere above and behind me. Then I heard a little something fall to the stage. I didn't really think much of it until some people in the front row started waving to get my attention and told me they saw smoke. Sure enough, one of the lights had exploded or whatever and was actually burning. Luckily, it was almost at the very end of the show, and I was like, 'See that guys? My comedy is on fire!' Then some stage manager came out and whispered in my ear that they actually needed to bring all the lighting down so they could hose it down with fire extinguishers, and so I turned to the audience and was like, 'Okay guys, you know what? Turns out we really do have a situation here, so thanks for coming out, and if anyone wants an autograph, how about we all meet over in the bar across the street for that instead of the lobby here, mmmkay?' Then everyone just applauded and exited very calmly even while part of the stage was on fire. It was completely surreal! I thought people were supposed to trample one another in burning theaters. Go figure. So, the long and short of it is I was supposed to be there two weeks, all sold out shows, and now they're all cancelled until further notice. So now I'm here!"

He paced anxiously a little, looking about the room, embarrassed by its cluttered state, which he saw her noticing. There were books and files strewn about and clothes left on the floor- clearly uncharacteristic of his typically tidy and highly organized nature. He grabbed some of the clothes and stuffed them in a hamper then picked up his pants from the day before and began to pull them on.

"Spencer! Settle down," she said, laughing uncomfortably. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me_? Nothing's wrong with me, except perhaps that I find it a little disturbing to wake up in my own bed to find I'm not alone! So yeah, Chris- maybe that's what's wrong with me, I'm simply not used to waking up to find strange women beside me!"

By this time, Christine had gotten out of bed and stood facing him. With his last words her jaw fell and whatever band by which she'd held on to her calm snapped. " _Strange woman_? And in _your_ bed? Excuse me? Pardon me, but just who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that? In case you've forgotten, Dr. Eidetic Memory, let me remind you- this is _my_ bed! It is in _my_ bedroom and in _my_ home! A home that I graciously allow you to live in rent-free because we are supposedly in a relationship, Spencer! So don't you dare cop some bullshit attitude with me as if _I'm_ the one invading _your_ privacy, sir!"

"I…I just wish you would've called before you came. You should have at least done me that courtesy, then I wouldn't have been so surprised to see you here this morning!"

"Call you? Dude, I _did_ call you! Check your phone- I called at presicely 10:13 last night to say I'd gotten myself booked on a flight home. You even answered it! What- you don't remember that? No, of course you wouldn't. You were so fucking stoned out of your goddamned mind you could hardly string two coherent words together!" As he made for the doorway to the hall, she darted in front of him, blocking his way. "Oh no you don't! You don't get to do this right now, Spencer! You've spent two months now running away from me and avoiding having any meaningful conversation about what the hell is up with you. So we're gonna have it all out right now! What the fuck is wrong with you? Baby- please! Just tell me! I can't help you if you won't talk to me!"

"I don't need your help!" he yelled at her. "I don't need anyone's damned help! What I need is to get out of here so I can have some peace and quiet and think!" He started to shove his way past her and out the door when time suddenly seemed to stop and run in slow motion. As he tried to pass, she had stepped forward to block his exit again, but his momentum caught her so that she bounced back off his arm. As she fell backwards, her head snapped back and caught the edge of the doorframe with a sickening thud, causing her to cry out sharply in pain before slipping down to the ground. She landed on the floor hard on her butt, then came to rest with her head bent forward and her knees drawn up, holding her hands to the back of her head.

He stepped back, horrified at the sight of her sitting there, and at the sound of her now whimpering in pain. His heart seemed to stop beating in his chest and he forgot to breathe. After a second he stepped forward and reached out tentatively towards her, asking, "Baby doll? Darling, are you alright? I'm so-"

She raised one arm to ward him off, crying, "Don't! Don't touch me! Just…just go on! Get out! Out!"

He stood up, gritted his teeth, and then flew down the stairs and out the front door. He didn't know where he was going; he simply knew he couldn't stay in that house one moment longer. He'd gotten down the steps of the veranda and halfway across the wet lawn before he realized he didn't have any shoes on. He didn't even have his wallet or car keys, for that matter. He stood there in the yard not knowing what to do. Even if he did know where to go, he couldn't go anywhere as he was; but how could he go back and face her after she had ordered him out? A cold, steady spring rain began to fall as he found himself completely at a loss, and he could do nothing more than hold his head in his hands and cry.

Behind him the door opened and shut, and he heard her footsteps move softly and slowly across the veranda. After a while he heard her say calmly, "Get on over here, now, and out of that rain. Are you trying to catch your death of cold?" He turned back towards the house and walked towards her, unable to make eye contact. She patted the spot next to her on the steps of the veranda and said, "Sit yourself down now and keep your mouth shut, because I have something I need to say." He sat as he had been told, his head down and his arms stretched out loosely on his knees before him. After a minute or two she finally began slowly, "Now, I know I am not a trained expert in this field. I've read no more than you have on the subject and perhaps even less. But one thing I have unfortunately come to know in my line of work is what addiction looks like. I have seen more times than I'd like to say how good people, smart people, wonderful and creative people get themselves into such a place of hurt and stress and despair that they feel their only hope is to try and medicate themselves to cope with it all. Too many times have I seen drugs and alcohol transform these good people, turning them in to someone they never wanted to be, someone they can't even recognize anymore. And more than once I've seen people I admired robbed by addiction of everything they had until it took the only thing they had left, which was their lives. So please do me the courtesy now of not mistaking me for a fool and trying to feed me some line of bullshit that you're a clean as the driven snow, because I know you're not. If I were to venture a guess, I'd say you've been taking some kind of opiate, am I correct?"

He tried to speak but was unable, so he merely nodded in affirmation.

She sighed heavily. "Mind if I ask you what it is?"

"Dilaudid," he replied in a choked whisper.

She sat for a moment and said, "No. I'm not buying that. Hydromorphone does _not_ fuck people up that badly. I mean, you'd have to be wildly exceeding your prescribed dosage, and even then it doesn't have that immediate effect I noticed when you'd sneak off to take it and then pass out cold. I mean, the pills just don't-"

"I wasn't taking the pills," he said quietly. "I was taking it intravenously…"

"Whoa, wait," she said, staring at him. "What? You can't get that shit unless it's administered in a hospital! How the fuck did you…? No. Don't tell me. I don't wanna know how you got it. But yeah, that'll do it. Hot damn, Spencer- don't tell me you've got that in my house? Do you know how many laws you're breaking just by having it?"

He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"Anyway, look," she said, "here's the thing I really wanted to tell you. I know who Spencer Reid is. Most people think he's smart. But I know he is so much more than that. He is sweet, he is kind, and he is funny. He's gentle, caring, thoughtful, romantic, and passionate. He is the bravest man I know, and he is my superhero. That's who Spencer Reid is. This morning, I met some other guy, someone who's angry and irritable, short-tempered, rude and downright mean. Now, I love Spencer Reid, because he's the most amazing man I have ever met. But this other guy? Him I don't want anything more to do with, ever. So that's it. If there's a chance I can get Spencer Reid back in my life, by God, I'll move heaven and earth to get him, because he is worth fighting for. But that other asshole? I need him gone, because frankly, I deserve better than him. And Sparky," she said, reaching out and lifting his face to look at her, "you deserve better, too. I know you're still in there somewhere. I know it is not too late to save the man I love, the man I respect and admire so very much. I know I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do, so I'm asking you- do you want to try and save that man, too? Because I can guarantee you, a man like that is worth saving!" She put her arms around him as he started to sob. "Shhh, come on now," she whispered. "Don't you agree?"

"I…I don't know," he said finally, his face buried in her hair. "I'm not sure I can be saved."

"But do you believe you're worth it, sweetheart?"

He shook his head. "After what I've said and what I've done to everyone…to my coworkers…to you…"

She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back so she could see his face. "No. Don't think about that. There will be a time to think about all that, but it's not now. Now is the time to think about you, Spencer. Are you worth saving? I mean, I know you are, because I know what an amazing man you are. But do you know? Do you want to have you back? Do you want to give me my Superman back?"

"Yes," he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I…I want to be the kind of man you can love and respect again."

"Well, that's good, but I hope most of all that you want to be the kind of man _you_ can love and respect. And you can be. I know you can. And hey- look at me. It's gonna be hard. It may be the hardest thing you've ever done. But I promise you, Spencer, you don't need to do it alone. As long as you're willing to fight, I swear to you I will be with you every step of the way. No matter what happens, I'll be here, because Spencer Reid," she paused, choking back her own tears. "Spencer Reid- he's the love of my life! And maybe I'm just stupid, because I didn't see it before, but when I realized I was losing him, I finally realized that I…I just can't live without him! You mean the world to me, sweetheart! So come on, now. Let's go back inside and see if we can't figure out how to be us again. Let's go be Spencer and Christine. We'll do this together, the whole way." She stood and held out her hand to him, and after looking up at her for a moment, he took it, stood up, and followed her into the house and up the stairs.

When they got to their room, she simply said, "Sit," and he obeyed. He sat perched on the edge of their bed, his shoulders slumped and head down. He'd never felt so ashamed and humiliated in his life. Not only had he been forced to confess to his habit- something so stupid, foolish and dangerous that, once he'd heard himself admit to it, he couldn't even fathom how he, a supposedly intelligent individual, had fallen into it- but he'd also hurt the woman he loved in his mindless attempt to escape her and avoid her finding out about it.

But now it was done. She knew. He sat and waited, feeling somehow shattered inside, to hear what she had to say to him. She pulled up a chair opposite from where he sat, only to leave it empty while she disappeared down the hall. As he waited for her, Spud emerged from under the bed, meowed at him and leapt up to lay down beside him. A few minutes later, Christine returned carrying a small bucket and sat down in the chair. After taking a deep breath, she said softly, "Do you know how I figured you out? It wasn't me. I couldn't see it. Maybe I could, but I just couldn't accept it. I don't know. I think this is just one of those things that people think, 'Oh, that happens to other people, but not _him_ \- not the man _I_ love.' But whatever. I knew something was wrong. It's like I had this little voice in the back of my mind whispering to me, 'This is not right. This is not Spencer. This is not how he rolls,' but I chose to ignore it and explain it to myself in some other way because I just couldn't deal with the fact that the problem might be this. But then, about two weeks after your whole ordeal happened, I was talking to Alex and she said the damnedest thing. She said, 'He's gotta be on something. He sounds just like my mom.' I thought she was out of her mind, but she said, 'No, you don't understand. When my mom was sober, she was the best mom ever. But when she drank, she was a completely different person.' I still couldn't see it, though. Then Jason called when you got back from New Orleans-"

"Gideon?" he exclaimed, looking up at her for the first time. "You talked to Gideon about me?" A fresh wave of horror and shame washed over him, as he realized she and his colleagues had been discussing him behind his back all this time.

"Yeah. And dude, don't get mad at him. He wasn't trying to rat you out, sweetheart. He called me because he cares about you. Maybe it's because he's got a son about your age. He looks at you and sees him. Anyway, they've all called me, but when Jason told me something about how you'd purposely avoided doing some bit of work, that was really the first time that I seriously started to consider that maybe something actually was going on with you, because that is not like you at all. I mean, if there's one thing you always do absolutely and without fail it is that you get your job done, right? But then Laurie got sick and Joe had to leave and I was so busy trying to keep up with my own work and…and I dropped the ball with you. Then it all came together in my mind about a week ago. The mood changes and irritability, the secrecy, the isolation, the defensiveness, the snoring, the disorder in your physical environment," she said, looking about the room, "the decreased libido…Oh don't look so shocked. It's been two months since we've had sex, and baby, for you and me that is _not_ normal. Normal for us is to screw like rabbits every chance we get."

"We haven't had any chances," he objected weakly.

"You haven't _made_ any chances. Don't worry. I'm not attacking your manhood. I'm just saying, it's a change in your behavior that I've noticed. But Spencer, look at me," she said, leaning forward and taking his hands in hers. "We can get through this. It's gonna be rough, but it's possible, as long as you want to do it. So tell me- do you want to get clean? Do you want to be you again?"

"Yes!" he whispered, his voice breaking as a sob tried to rise from his chest.

"Spencer, can I tell you something? And I'm dead serious when I say this, now- you are one hell of a great guy. I don't just love you; I respect and admire you. You are my hero. And I hope to God that when you look in the mirror, you see someone you love, respect and admire, too, because that's what you deserve to see. That's the life you deserve to live. Okay?" She smiled at him through the tears running down her face then moved over to sit by him on the bed. "It's alright, sweetheart," she said, putting her arms around him. "Come on. Let's just hug this out, okay?"

For a long time they sat and simply held each other and quietly cried together. Now that he'd been found out, now that he'd confessed, the anger he'd felt was evaporated. He felt simply broken now and ashamed- ashamed by what he'd done, ashamed by how he'd behaved, ashamed by how he'd treated everyone, especially Christine. A few times he felt he couldn't stand himself any longer and he tried to pull away, but she held him fast until he stopped struggling and finally held her just as tightly. After a while he whispered, "That's what I missed the most, you know."

"What's that, Sparky?"

"Being able to respect myself."

"Well," she said softly, "I still respect you. You'll get it back. I promise." At last she sat back, wiped her face off, managed a smile for him and said, "Alrighty then. Enough of this mushy crap. Let's get started. When was the last time you used?"

"What time is it now?"

"About 10:00am."

"Then I'd say about 11 hours ago."

She took a breath and said, "Okay. So if you're not jonesing for it now, you will be soon, huh?"

He merely nodded in reply.

"Right. So," she continued, reaching for the bucket she'd brought, "let's go get it. We've gotta get every bit of that shit gone before the DTs hit, know what I mean? So where is it?"

He took the bucket from her and headed for the closet. When she started to follow him, he said, "No, you can't…you can't see this," as he knelt in front of the safe.

"Excuse me? This is still my house, Spencer, and if it's your security code you're worried about, you know I don't care about-"

"No, that's not it…it's…Christine, I'm going to get it. But there's something else in here I don't want you to see…"

"What the hell, dude? What could possibly be worse than illegal fucking narcotics?"

"It's not worse it's…it's a gift. For you. I wanted it to be a surprise, although now that I've said it, I suppose it's not a surprise anymore…"

She smiled a little sheepishly. "Really? I thought you'd forgotten my birthday. Not that I care, but…you could still give it to me now and I'll act surprised…"

"No…no, not now. It's something that…now's just not the right time, that's all."

"Alright, whatever," she said, turning and walking back out of the closet. "But you'd better not be bullshitting me and trying to hang on to some of that crap, you know!"

"No," he said, pulling out the vials and syringes and pushing the jewelry box back farther. "No, I'm getting it all."

When he reemerged a few moments later, she said, "Now get the rest of it." When he hesitated, she said, "Come on, I know you've got back up. Let's have it, because baby, within 24 hours, you're gonna feel sicker than you've probably ever felt. And when that hits you, you're not gonna have the willpower to resist it, no matter how much resolve you may have now."

He reached down into his messenger bag and pulled out what he had stashed there, tossed it in the bucket, and said, "The rest is downstairs."

She followed him down into the library where he took a large text from the shelf. "'Biosocial Dimensions of Pedophilia'?" she remarked when she saw the title. "Ew! Nasty!"

"Exactly," he replied, as he pulled out the vial he'd hidden behind it. "That's why I put it there- I knew you'd never want to pull that down and look through it."

"Well, you called that one right," she said, as he handed her the bucket. "Is that it?"

"Yes, that's it," he said flatly, his shoulders slumped.

"Okay, have a seat, now," she told him, gesturing towards the sofa. She sat down beside him, holding the bucket in her hands. "Look at this now. I want you to tell me very honestly what you see."

"Shame," he said quietly, "and embarrassment. Fear. Failure. But also, somehow, I look at it and I see sleep. I see forgetting…and escape…and I see peace…"

She stared at the bucket for a moment quietly and nodded. Finally she said, "Now, can I tell you something? When you look at this, I want you to remember something very important. When you see this, what you need to see is that this is a thief and it is a liar. It has lied to you, promising you peace and comfort and relief. But all the while what it was really doing is robbing you blind. It took your time. It took your money. It took your sanity and confidence and self-respect. In time, it would have taken our relationship, your place to live, your career- it would have taken everything you have in this world. And after it had taken everything from you and you had nothing left to take, it would have taken your life. When you think of this, when you look at this, I need you to remember that. This shit wants to kill you. It's told you in the past that it was only trying to help, but I guarantee you that was a lie. It wants to destroy you. Alright?" she said, holding his face in her hands as tears welled up again in her eyes. "Do you get that? I know you're hurting. I know you're scared and I know you just want some peace. And you will get all that and more, because you are a good man, Spencer Reid, and you deserve a good life. Please, don't let this take any more from you, because you deserve wonderful, beautiful, amazing things out of life. And please," she added, choking with tears, "please- don't let it steal the man I love from me. I miss him, and frankly, I don't know how I could live without him."

At these last words, he broke down once more in tears as well. He'd never felt so embarrassed and ashamed of himself as he had felt that morning and yet, to his amazement, she still loved him, and she still clung to hope for him. They put their arms around one another and sobbed together for what felt like hours. At last she sat up, wiped her eyes and said, "Okay. Enough of this for now. Now, I wanna go have some for with this shit. You in?"

He looked at her quizzically and nodded, not knowing quite what she meant, but when she stood up, grabbed the bucket and said, "Alrighty then. Follow me!" he followed her out of the library. She headed for the back yard by a circuitous route, and as they passed through the mudroom, she stopped and reached up into a cabinet where she kept some tools. Taking out a heavy claw hammer, she held it at arms-length to survey it and declared, "This oughta do the job nicely!" As they walked together across the back yard, she said, "Now, I'm sure you're not eager to tell the world what's going on with you right now, but the fact is, there are certain people who are gonna have to know. Alex was due to catch a flight home early this afternoon…"

He groaned. The thought of anyone else knowing this about him was mortifying, but he knew it was useless to object to this. This was Alex's home, too, after all, and she was bound to find out sooner or later precisely what his problem was.

He was an addict. Even admitting that in his own mind made him cringe. An addict. He could hardly think of a worse term to use to describe himself. But that's precisely what he was- there was no softer, kinder, euphemistic word to use to describe himself. He was an addict.

Christine continued, "and of course you're going to have to take some time off work. I know you hate to hear that, but there is no way around it. You are sick. Sick people need time and rest and care to heal. Don't you dare try to argue with me on this one, Spencer," she said, as he started to open his mouth. "It is what it is. There's no shame in being sick, only in staying sick when you know you don't need to."

"Chris, I…I can't tell my boss about this! I can't! I could lose my job, my career, everything I've worked for, I-"

She stopped and turned to him, with one eyebrow raised and said, "No, that's what you'll lose if you keep taking this shit. You'll lose all of that and more. You know the statistics as well as I do, and maybe even better. One out of every nine adult Americans has or has had a substance abuse issue. And if you think that everyone at the FBI is perfectly squeaky clean, boy, you are mistaken, because I can guarantee you that there is someone you work with right now who is either dealing with this or knows someone who is. At least Aaron needs to know, because he needs to understand what you're dealing with and why you need to take time off. But you leave him to me. I know how to handle him. Now look here," she said, nodding to an old stump. "This is what we're out here for."

She set the bucket down on the ground and began putting each little vial on the stump. Then she handed him the hammer and said, "Now, remember what I told you. This shit has lied to you. It has embarrassed and humiliated you. It's made you do things you never wanted to do. It wants to take everything from you. It wants to kill you. So show it what you really think of it."

He held the hammer in his hand a moment, feeling its weight. He looked at the vials, and then back at Christine. Suddenly, a surge of rage rushed through him, as he thought how close he'd come to losing her- to losing everything. With a shout, he raised the hammer and brought it down as hard as he could, again and again and again. Finally, he staggered back and surveyed what he'd done. As he looked at the smashed glass glittering in the sunlight on the wet stump, the image of a slave smashing his chains floated through his mind and he began to laugh and cry uncontrollably, all at the same time. He wasn't sure what he would do next, what lay ahead of him or that challenges he'd face, but he felt as though he could taste freedom, and it was wonderfully sweet.

* * *

A/N

The first episode referenced in this chapter is season 2, episode 18 "Jones", which originally aired February 28, 2007. The second one referenced is season 2, episode 20, "Honor Among Thieves," which aired April 11, 2007. At the end of "Jones", Reid makes a confession to Gideon, after the entire team had begun to notice his erratic behavior, that "I need help." However, in season 3, episode 16 "Elephant's Memory", originally aired on April 16, 2008, he is seen attending a substance abuse support group meeting and reveals he has less than one full year clean time. In the season 2 finale "No Way Out, Part II: The Evilution of Frank", originally aired May 16, 2007, Hotch recognizes that Reid is finally recovering from his addiction. All of these dates factored in to my decision to fixing the date of the bulk of this chapter at Saturday, April 14, 2007. Since there was a gap of three weeks between episodes 20 and 21, I chose this time to be an appropriate one in which the events in this chapter and the next to take place, because there would be a short but sufficient time for Reid to begin his recovery.

I believe in giving credit where credit is due, and the story about how Christine found herself suddenly unable to perform at the venue due to a fire was inspired by a YouTube video of comedian Mike Birbiglia. In it, Mike's in the middle of his show, "My Girlfriend's Boyfriend," when a light actually does explode and he's informed by audience members that the light fixtures are indeed smoking. I've seen him perform this show live, and I can assure you that this event was definitely not a planned part of his act. While stage hands come out to try and douse the fire, Mike is seen pacing nervously (and rather hilariously) back and forth on stage, trying to calm himself and the audience, and at one point declares, "My comedy is on fire!" So no, that's not my original line; it's his. Unfortunately, this video appears to no longer available on YouTube as of the writing of this chapter.


	31. Chapter 31

"Who was that?" Haley asked drowsily as Aaron hung up the phone.

"Christine Arcangeli," he replied. He sat on the edge of the bed, thinking about what she'd just said.

"On a Sunday morning? What time is it?"

"It's 6:53," he answered, standing and starting to dress.

"What's going on? Where are you going?" She sat up and blinked.

"To the office. She wants to talk."

"Oh, Aaron…" she complained. "Not today! You know I made plans for brunch with my family!"

"I don't think this will take long. I'll be back in plenty of time for brunch, I promise."

Haley sighed and watched him for a moment before hearing Jack begin to cry in the other room. As she passed her husband to go get him, she said, "You'd better be. It shouldn't be too much to ask of you to give one day a week to your family."

"It's not, and as soon as this is over I'll come right back."

"What does she want, anyway?"

"She wouldn't say, just that she needed some urgent legal advice."

"Then she should hire a lawyer!"

"Well, you know her. She can be very insistent. But you have her number, so if I'm late, you can call her yourself and give her a piece of your mind. Deal?"

"You tell her I plan to do exactly that!" she answered, as Aaron kissed both her and Jack before heading out the door.

When he arrived at his office, he found Christine was already there. "How on earth did you get in here?" he grumbled. "That door was locked."

"You people have pretty shitty security, apparently," she said. "Sit."

He stared at her for a moment, more than a little annoyed that after breaking into his own office, she was now giving him orders. But he could tell by looking at her she was clearly exhausted and distressed, so he held his tongue and sat, gesturing to her to do the same. After she'd sat down in one of the chairs opposite him, he asked, "So why exactly are we here this morning?"

"As I mentioned over the phone, I understand you are a lawyer in good standing with the bar, correct? Wonderful. I'm here to seek your legal counsel regarding a matter of mutual interest to us."

"And what might that be?"

"I'm sure you can imagine. But before I continue, I need to know if you agree to provide me with legal counsel. Do you agree? And if so, you may name your own fee, incidentally."

"Yes, I agree. We can discuss my fee later. With what may I assist you?"

"First," she said, drawing a recorder from her purse and setting it on his desk, "I need you to say that for the record." She pushed a button, and said, "So, you are Mr. Aaron Hotchner, I have retained you as my legal counsel. Everything we say henceforth in this conversation is therefore considered confidential and protected by attorney-client privilege."

"Correct."

"And you understand that if it comes to my knowledge that any part of this privileged conversation has been divulged to anyone else without my consent, I will file a motion with the ABA seeking punishment up to and including your disbarment."

He sat back in his seat as he regarded her and said slowly, "I understand."

"Excellent. So, here's the deal. Essentially, I already know what course of action I want to take. I needed to ensure your confidentiality, though, and also…well, if you have any useful advice in this matter, I am open to it."

"This is about Spencer, correct?"

"Of course it is. But I need to protect his reputation and future with the Bureau. Personally, I wouldn't give two shits if you fired him, because between you and me, I kinda fucking hate his job. Y'all work him too hard and treat him like he's a goddamned walking, talking Wikipedia. You sure as hell don't pay him what he's worth. But I digress." She sighed heavily and continued, "God help him, for some reason he loves this job and would be devastated if he lost it. So here's the deal. Neither you nor I am stupid. So I'm sure you knew as well as I that it was a big fucking mistake for him to come back to work after what that whackadoodle down in Georgia did to him. And I'm further sure that you've noticed as well as I have that he has just…not been right ever since." She fell silent for a moment and stared at her own hands. Finally she looked up and said, "Aaron, what exactly do you know about what Spencer went through with said whackadoodle? I mean, do you know everything that happened to him?"

Something heartbreakingly ominous in her voice sent a chill through Hotch. He leaned forward with his arms on the desk and said, "I know he was beaten and restrained. I know he had his life threatened. I know he nearly died. I watched- we all watched- on video while that happened…"

"And he's never spoken of any of the rest of it to you?"

"No. He's never said a word of it that I'm aware of to myself or any member of our team. And there's nothing beyond that that's he mentioned to the bureau psychologist…"

"Did you ever wonder why he never tried to escape? I mean, he only had on handcuffs. He was left alone for hours at a time. Did it ever seem strange to you that he never got up and tried to just run for it?"

Hotch stared at her steadily and said slowly, "Yes…it did trouble me. I assumed he was simply too injured or traumatized-"

"You assumed wrong," she said shortly, a pained grin on her lips. "You may think that man is weak or timid, but I can assure you he is tougher, stronger, more resilient and resourceful than you can imagine. That man may appear skinny and weak, but I know him far better than you, and I can assure you he is made of steel inside and out. The reason," she said, her voice suddenly faltering as tears came to her eyes, "the real reason he didn't leave- he _couldn't_ leave- is because that sick son of a bitch was keeping him high as a goddamned kite on hydromorphone."

"Hydromorphone…I'm not familiar…"

"The trade name's Dilaudid. And he wasn't feeding him pills. He was injecting him with that shit. Do you understand that, Aaron? Do you get it? Pharmaceutical grade hydromorphone is practically fucking heroin, only worse, because once a junkie is hooked on heroin, his dealer starts selling him the shit that's been cut with God-knows-what. This stuff was way stronger than that. And can you imagine how that fucked up his _mind_? Forget his body. That cocksucker treated him worse than an animal. But his _mind_ , Aaron. He was hurt, he was scared, he was terrorized for days, and in that whole time, the only peace he got was when he was fucking stoned. So that's what's been up with him. When he got home, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't relax, he couldn't keep himself sane, because the second he tried to close his eyes he'd see that man! He'd find himself right back there, staring at the monster who murdered those people, who wanted to murder you and who might have murdered him…and…" said, pausing to wipe her cheeks, "and…the only thing he could think of to help him block it all out was…was…to keep getting high. So that's what's been going on with him. We've all been wondering what the hell his problem is and, well, that's it. That's what he's been doing."

Hotch leaned back and breathed deeply. He shook he head slightly and stared up at the ceiling. He had known Reid had a problem. He knew there was something very wrong with him. But he hadn't imagined- hadn't allowed himself to imagine- that it could be something this serious. He sighed heavily and looked back at Christine.

"You know," she continued, "it's not an excuse for what he did- he's not stupid, he knows it was wrong, it was dangerous, it was harmful on so many levels- but…but…when I try to look at the situation from his point of view, I find myself thinking not that it's incomprehensible that this happened, but rather that it's hard to see how it _couldn't_ have happened. And frankly, I'm amazed he didn't die of an overdose and was still marginally functional, because the shit he was taking, and as much as he was taking- that'll fucking kill you. Hell, that's why he had that seizure in the cabin! His respiratory system was so depressed that the blow he took caused his whole body to shut down. He got himself caught in a perfect storm. But, now that it's all out there and now that I know what he's up against, it's gotta change, or that perfect storm will drown him. Which is why I need you."

"I'm listening…"

"So, the first order of business is to get him detoxed, and the second is to get him started in therapy. Here's how it's going to go down: right now, he's home with my assistant, Alex. The withdrawl is just starting to hit him, so I need to get back as soon as I can, because for about the next 48 hours or so, hours he's going to going to be sicker than he's ever felt in his life. It's going to be about a week before he'd be able to pass a drug screen, so you understand that, for the sake of his career, he's gotta stay away from here."

"Yes, of course," Hotch conceded. "If he were randomly tested, he would lose his job."

"Exactly. But to stay clean, he's gotta get therapy, and I mean, like, with someone who's _not_ an FBI shrink. I'm sure you can appreciate his desire for confidentiality in this matter."

"I do."

"And," she said, leaning forward, "you do understand that, having shared this with you in confidence, you are bound to keep everything I've told you to yourself. Just to be clear, Aaron- I like you, but I love Spencer. If I have any reason to believe that anything I have discussed with you here in private is made known, I will not only see to it you are disbarred, I will make it my personal mission in life to talk about this every single chance I get. I'll say it in every interview, on every late-night talk show- I'm going to be taping a special for Comedy Central in June and I will work it into my bit- and I will not stop until I see that you personally are hounded from the FBI and unable to work in the legal system ever again. Understood? Great. Now, I actually trust you. I know you know how to keep your mouth shut, and I believe you have no desire to see an asset as valuable as Spencer leave the Bureau. But there is one member of your team that you are going to have to manage. I will give you permission to tell your people that Spencer is ill, and that is all. But you need to impress upon Penny the importance of keeping his medical records private, because you know as well as I do that she's going to get curious and try to hack into his information out of personal concern for him. However, if I find that she has accessed any of his records in violation of HIPAA regulations, I promise you I will bring down on both you and her a public relations nightmare so intense you won't know what hit you, and I will not stop until she has received that minimum $50,000 fine and does jail time. I don't know what you're going to have to do to reign her in, and far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, but it would behoove you to find a way to do just that."

Hotch gazed steadily at her for a minute before replying, "So, it would seem you came here to lay down terms for me- or did you actually require my legal counsel and advice?"

"Well, I'm certainly open to any advice you may have for me," she replied, leaning back in her chair.

"I think your course of action is sound," he said. "May I inquire as to the specifics of his treatment?"

"It should take him five to seven days to get the opiates completely out of his system. I personally will be having him pee in a cup for me daily. He'll test positive for several days, of course, but I'm going to be having it analyzed at a lab to ensure that his levels are indeed going down. I've found an outpatient treatment center that I'll be sending him to as soon as he's physically able to go. There he'll continue to be randomly tested, in addition to attending three hours of group therapy daily and one hour of personal counseling twice a week. He's bound and determined to get back to work as soon as possible, but I've put my foot down on this- he will not be back in the office for at least three weeks. After that, he'll only return after his counselor has decided he's firmly on the right path, but I think he'll still need to continue to see a therapist weekly. We both understand and appreciate the fact that, as his supervisor, you need to be able to absolutely depend on his sobriety, not only as it relates to safety in the field, but also in the event that he is called to testify at trial."

"Oh, absolutely," Hotch replied. "If a defense attorney were able to discredit his work or testimony on the basis of substance abuse, any evidence he handles could be thrown out."

"Yeah, and I totally get that. Therefore, if at any time you feel the need to test him or review his medical records, he or I will be willing to release that information to you upon request."

Hotch thought for a moment and said, "I think your plan of action is wise. Now, you'll have to forgive me because I'm not an expert in these matters, but as I understand it, an addiction like this can be extremely difficult to overcome. What can I reasonably expect his chances for recovery to be?"

"Ah, well," Christine replied, pursing her lips for a moment, "there are, of course, a number of factors that contribute to that. With an opiate addiction, one major issue is the length of time the individual has been using, because opiates cause an actual change in brain chemistry. Specifically, they erode a person's ability to regulate their impulse control, and with long term addicts this change can be permanent. Spencer's only been using for two months, so in that regard the prognosis of his complete physical recovery is exceptionally good. The second most important factor is his mental and emotional recovery. It's estimated that more than 80% of addicts have some underlying issue that needs to be addressed and dealt with before they can be expected to maintain their sobriety, and that's Spencer's problem. He went through a severe trauma that he simply has not dealt with. He used hydromorphone specifically to _avoid_ dealing with it. So he absolutely needs that therapy. It can't be with an FBI shrink- he needs to be in an environment where he feels absolutely safe, knowing that his every word, thought and deed is not going to be reported to the Bureau. And he is definitely not relishing the idea of group therapy at all, but it is necessary for him to meet other people who have been through what he's going through, to know he's not alone in this and to develop relationships with people who understand what he's experiencing. Beyond that, he needs to have the right motivation. He's lucky that he's doing this of his own free will and not because of a court order. He's not just getting clean because other people tell him he needs to do it; he's getting help because he knows he needs to do it. And he's surrounded by people who love him and support him in this, so all in all, from an objective point of view, his chances are excellent."

"And what about you? How are you holding up?"

"Who, me?" she asked, smiling weakly. "I'm okay. I mean, it's…it's been rough. I feel like I'm walking an emotional tightrope. There are moments when I feel like I wanna punch myself in the head, you know? I mean, how could I have been so god-awful, shit-for-brains stupid to have missed this? How could I not know? How could I let this happen?"

"Christine," Hotch said quietly, "we all missed it. I think all of us here had our suspicions about him. I know I certainly did."

"Yeah, well, you're not me. He's not your lover or your partner- he's mine. And then there are times when I'm just so excited for him. I'm so hopeful and proud of him for deciding to deal with this and get healthy that I could burst. So all in all, I'm just trying to stay balanced, you know, and keep myself steady." She sat quietly for a moment, lost in thought, then said, "You wanna hear something crazy?"

Hotch smiled gently and said, "Something crazy is generally what I expect to hear when I'm speaking with you, Christine."

She returned his smile and said, "You know when I knew I loved Spencer? It was when I was 18 and he was 16. My brother and I used to share this apartment at MIT, and Joe thought it would be a brilliant idea to throw me a surprise birthday party. I hate celebrating my birthday in general, but I was particularly upset that year because I'd just been diagnosed."

"And you thought that it might be your last birthday…"

"Kinda, yeah. And what is there to celebrate about that? Anyway, he had a few friends over, and Spencer was one of them. And we…we sat on the balcony, and he figured out that I was sick and that I'd just started to lose my hair. I asked him to come back the next day while Joe was out, because there was something I needed him to do for me that I knew I couldn't ask Joe to do. So he came, and I took him into the bathroom, sat down on a chair I'd put there, and I told him I needed him to shave my head. Joe…he couldn't have done it. It would have broken his heart. But Spencer, he didn't want to do it either. So I grabbed the scissors in one hand, my hair in another, and I cut it off. And then I said, 'Now you finish it.' He had this look on his face like he was going to cry, but he did it. He cut it, then he shaved it- I gotta say, it took him for ever, but he did a helluva job- and when it was done, he brushed the hair off my face and handed me my glasses. And that's when I…I lost it. My whole life I'd hated this ugly red hair. But when I looked down and saw it all lying on the floor…I cried. I cried longer and harder than I'd ever cried in my life. I stood up to try and sweep it all together, but he wouldn't let me. He just said, 'You've been through enough today. Go lay down; I'll take care of this.' And by God, he did. You know him- he'd kinda OCD. While I lay in bed crying, he swept, cleaned my bathroom, vacuumed the entire apartment- I even heard him doing some dishes. Then he came in my room and started folding some laundry I'd done. That was when he noticed the wig I'd bought, so I got up and put it on, so he could tell me how it looked before I went out in public like that, you know? It was brown, because I'd always wished I could have been a brunette. When I asked him what he thought, he said, 'It looks nice, but I always thought you were beautiful just the way you are.' That's how I knew I loved him. He liked me for being me, and he was willing to do anything, even if he really didn't want to, if he knew I needed him to do it. That's how I know he'll get through this, because no matter how hard it is, he knows I need him to be there for me. But seriously- how's that for crazy? I mean, what other girl would fall for a guy because he shaved her head for her?"

"Well, it's certainly unconventional, but then the two of you are quite unique individuals, so on some level I find it strangely fitting."

She laughed. "I know, right?" She paused briefly, pondering something, then continued, "Well, that's all I have for you at the moment. I think I've kept you from your family long enough. Did you have any questions about anything for me?"

"No," he replied, pushing back from his desk as she stood. "I think I'm clear on the situation and what measures are being taken. If I have any questions, I'll call you."

"Yes, please. You do that. If anything changes, I'll be in touch, but for right now let's plan on him being on medical leave for three weeks, then."

"Understood. If you need any assistance, please don't hesitate to contact me. Oh, and Christine," he said, extending his hand, "good luck- to both of you."

Christine took his hand with a smile and said, "Thanks, Aaron. I appreciate that."

* * *

A half hour later, Christine put her car in park and turned off the engine. She sat for a moment with her eyes closed and sighed, before putting on a smile and walking up the steps to the house. When she got to the door of the bedroom, Alex was sitting quietly in the chair near the window. She looked at Christine, glanced at Spencer lying in bed, then back to Christine, who nodded silently to her. She stood up and walked over to the bed, touched Spencer's hand and said quietly, "I hope you feel better real soon," before taking her knitting and walking out the door.

Christine shut the door after her and sat down on the bed beside Spencer. She brushed his damp hair back from his clammy forehead and asked gently, "So how ya feelin', Sparky?"

"As if my gastrointestinal tract is being turned inside out and being forced to work in reverse."

"Are you at least able to hold down some fluids?"

"Yes," he said miserably. "That end is not the problem…"

"Ah…I see. Well, that sucks, but it is to be expected. In the meantime, we'll just have to make sure we keep your fluids up- does that sound like something you can handle? Yeah? Okay. I'll send Alex out for some Gatorade, and anything else that might be easy on your tummy." She bent down and kissed his cheek. "I know it feels like you're dying now," she whispered, "but we're gonna get through this, okay? Just let me know what you need."

"Do I still have a job?"

"Oh what, that?" she said with a little laugh. "Yeah. You've got a job. But not for a few weeks. As far as your team will know, you're ill and on medical leave. If they want any further information, they'll have to come to me to get it. Aaron's not going to talk."

"Garcia will know. She'll…you know she can hack into any system in the world. She'll find out you gave my insurance information to that treatment center…"

"Aw, I've taken care of that, too. Don't you worry your pretty little head about anything like that."

"Oh, no," he groaned. "What did you do?"

"I told you, I took care of it. And…maybe I threatened to have Aaron's job and make sure Penny saw the inside of a prison cell if any of it got out…"

"Christine! No…"

"Anyway, the point is, your secret is safe with Aaron, and I'm pretty sure he'll find a way to keep her in line, too. A time may come when you're ready to tell everyone what has gone on with you, but that will be your decision and will happen on your terms. He understands that."

As Spencer lay on his side, tears started to slip down his cheeks. Christine brushed his hair back from his forehead again and asked softly, "What is it, Sparky?"

"I feel," he began, "I feel… like the biggest loser in the world. All my life, I've been proud of who I was. Even when other kids bullied me in school, I was proud of myself. I was proud that I was smart. I was proud I was independent. I know even now that many people think I'm weird or eccentric. I know how they perceive me. But I've always liked who I was. I've never been ashamed that I was different. But now…"

"Hey," she said, leaning down to kiss his cheek, "you're _still_ someone you can be proud of being. Someday soon, you'll see that again. But I'm still proud of you. Alex still thinks the world of you. Even Aaron- he understands what an amazing and remarkable man you are. Life- it's just dealt you a really shitty hand. Something terrible happened to you, and that totally sucks, but that's life. That's how it goes sometimes. And then, after that, yeah. You dealt with it in the wrong way. I understand why you did what you did. Was it a mistake? Well, hell yeah, it was a mistake. It was really fucking stupid of you. But that's what it was- a mistake. You cannot define who you are by the mistakes you've made, Sparky, because who you fundamentally are deep down is still a wonderful, incredible, amazing man! Can I tell you a story?"

He let out a short, dry laugh. "I don't think I could stop you if I tried."

"Probably not. See how you knew that? You really are a smart guy. So listen up. Once upon a time, there was this boy. He was born in 1930. His father was a rocket scientist, and he grew up dreaming of rocket ships and of someday going into space. Of course, in the 30s, even his own father thought he was ridiculous. But he held on to that dream. After high school, he went to West Point and got a degree in mechanical engineering, and then he joined the Air Force as a fighter pilot during the Korean War. Now, that was hazardous enough, but when he told his dad he still wanted to fly into space, his dad told him there was no way, it was too dangerous. He went to MIT and in 1963 got an ScD in astronautics anyway, writing his dissertation on 'Line-of-sight guidance techniques for manned orbital rendezvous', which was impressive enough to get him accepted to NASA, where they gave him the nickname-"

"Dr. Rendezvous," Spencer interjected with a slight smile. "I know who you're talking about…"

"Hey now," she said, snapping her fingers. "Who's telling this story- you or me?"

"Sorry…"

"Anyway, when he had his first chance to go into space, his father disapproved, but he did it anyway and it was amazing. Still, it wasn't enough. He wanted to go further, and he wanted to go to the moon. Then in 1969, it happened. He got his chance, and he was selected to be part of the Apollo 11 crew. And all his training and all his ambition and all his education was just enough to land Buzz Aldrin a seat on the lunar landing module- in the seat farthest from the door. So he had to sit there and watch while Neil Armstrong fulfilled what had been _his_ lifelong dream and become the first human being in history to set foot on the moon. He became the runner-up. When his own turn came to walk on the moon, and he went to climb back up into the lunar module afterwards, he stumbled and fell on the stairs. He knew the whole world- literally, the whole world- was watching him, and he fell. When he got back to earth, everyone else thought he was a hero. But in his own mind, he was a failure. He was nothing more than an also-ran who couldn't even climb up a set of stairs. He's said since that he always knew his whole life he'd suffered bouts of depression, but when he came back his depression became overwhelming. He didn't want to get help because in some twisted way he thought it would be like admitting he was weak. So, he tried to deal with his own sense of failure and disappointment by drinking it way, because when he was drunk he didn't have to think about how he'd failed. And he kept drinking…and he kept drinking…and he kept drinking…until he lost his job, his wife, his kids, his home, his reputation, and his self-respect. One day, a man wanted to interview him about his experience as an astronaut, what it was like to walk on the moon and how it felt to be an American hero. The guy asked to meet him in the lounge at the hotel where he'd been living after his wife kicked him out. That day just happened to be the day on which the Postal Service released the only stamp it's ever released depicting a living person, and it was a photo of Neil Armstrong on the moon- a picture that he, Buzz Aldrin, had taken. And that just set him off again. The whole world knew once more that Neil was first, and that he was a nobody, and while he waited for the guy to show up for the interview, he got drunk as a skunk. When the guy finally showed up, he was like, 'Dude, you're a hero! You're a legend! This is no way to live!' But Buzz couldn't see that. All he could see was that Neil got his picture on a stamp and he got nothing. He kept drinking until he had nothing left to lose to alcohol but his life. And finally he realized he didn't want to lose his life, too, so he got help. He _finally_ got help. He got help for his depression and he got help for his addiction. And then he found that getting help didn't mean he was weak or that he was a failure. All it meant was that he was human, and that just like every other human, once in a while, he needed and deserved help. When he got sober, he was back. He became himself again. He was still an American hero. He was still Dr. Rendezvous! He still had something to great to give the world. He's working with engineers at Purdue now on the Aldrin Cycler, a pair of orbital modules that will be used to transport people and equipment between Earth and Mars. Think about that for a moment. He's 77 years old now, and he's still designing shit that NASA legitimately thinks that, within 30 years, will help us put a man on motherfucking Mars! It's gonna happen someday in the not-so-distant future! And when mankind first sets foot on Mars, it will be in no small part because Buzz Aldrin is _not_ a failure. He is _not_ a loser. He is a man who made mistakes like all human beings make mistakes, but he got the help he needed when he needed it, and there is no shame in that! The only shame is lies in not recognizing that you need help and accepting it when it is offered. Spencer, you're already there. You've come to that realization and you've made the decision to get help. And when you've fought this, when you've overcome this, you are going to do things even you can't imagine! You are going to live a life that is so full, so amazing and so meaningful that 50, 60, 70 years from now, as they lower you in the ground, people all over the world will pause and think, 'Wow. Now there goes a man who made a difference. That was a man who made the world a better place because he was in it. We are better people because we had the privilege of knowing Spencer Reid.' Sparky, you are a smart man, but even you don't know, you can't conceive, you have _no idea_ now how much there is that is great and good and beautiful in this world that is just waiting for you to learn and do and experience. But I can see it. I know. I am sure of it because you are still my superhero. You're still the finest man I know. We're going to get through this. We're going to do it together, and when you're better, you're going to be even stronger than you ever were."

He reached one trembling hand out from under the covers to take her hand. "I wish I could believe you."

"Someday, you will, Sparky. Right now it's hard, because you're sick and shaky and scared. But I know it already. You're gonna get past this, and when you do, you'll turn around and look back at yourself and just be astounded at how far you've come. But you just get as comfortable as you can, now. This is just the start of it, and the next 48 hours or so are gonna be hell…"

He closed his eyes and struggled to believe that it was so, that he could get past this. He wanted to have her hope and confidence in the future, but it was so hard. He could hardly think of anything beyond the physical distress he found himself in now. He was shaking, shivering in a cold sweat, and feeling like he wanted to jump out of his own skin. He felt his stomach cramping again painfully as another wave of nausea washed over him, and he prayed that, if there was a God out there somewhere, that he would see him lying there and give him the strength to fight through this, even as his mind and body screamed for the relief he knew an injection could give him.

* * *

A/N

HIPAA stands for the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act. It is a US federal law which protects individual's rights to privacy for their health insurance records. Willful (as opposed to accidentally disclosing personal medical information) violation of this law is punishable by a fine of $50,000 and up to one year in prison.

Buzz Aldrin's story and struggle with depression and alcohol addiction, as told by Christine in this chapter, has been gathered from numerous sources, including Wikipedia, radio interviews I've listened to, newspaper and magazine articles, and his own memoir, _Magnificent Desolation: The Long Journey Home From the Moon_ , Aldrin, Buzz and Ken Abraham, 2009. New York: Harmony Books.


	32. Chapter 32

Christine squinted in the dark to see the time on the alarm clock. 2:37. She sighed heavily and let her head sink into the pillow. He finally seemed to have fallen asleep. For two and a half days she'd watched him struggle with nausea, stomach cramps, cold sweats and bone pain to the point she thought her heart and body and sanity would break. She'd sat on the bathroom floor beside him as he vomited what little he'd consumed. She had held him upright and walked him back to bed afterwards when he was too weak to hold himself upright on his own. And she had held his head in her lap there on the bathroom floor when he was too sick and weak even to stand. That had been the worst moment for her- for both of them. He had groaned and wept in his agony, and she had felt utterly helpless to ease his suffering. All she could find to do was wipe his face with a cool, damp rag and sing lullabies she remembered from her childhood, but she knew it gave him little comfort. She looked at him almost in wonder that he'd lost so much weight- he had always been so slim, it didn't seem possible for him to lose any more. But his cheeks had grown hollow and when she put her arms around him to ease him into bed, she could feel his ribs through his pajamas. The nausea had largely passed by now and had been replaced with an anxious, nervous, painful restlessness. His hands trembled and he couldn't rest or get comfortable. He ached all over, his heart raced and his skin crawled. They'd turned the lights out finally around 10:00pm, but he had moaned and tossed and turned continuously, constantly turning his pillow over and over, kicking off the bed covers then pulling them back up, only to groan and kick them off again. They were both sleep deprived almost to the point of madness, until finally, at last, he seemed to succumb to sheer exhaustion and fall asleep. Thankfully, his misery seemed to be gone, even for a short time, and she closed her eyes and gratefully abandoned herself to sleep beside him.

Almost as soon as she'd fallen asleep, she heard him yell, "Dammit!" from the bathroom, and her eyes flew open. She reached for her glasses and caught sight of the time and stared at the clock for a second, uncomprehendingly. It was already after 6:00am, though she felt as if she'd only slept for 10 minutes. She ran to the bathroom to see what the trouble was and found him standing in front of the mirror, fresh blood trickling down his cheek.

"Sweetheart?" she asked, stepping through the door. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"No!" he said bitterly. "I am not okay! I haven't bathed in days, and I've barely even had fresh clothes on! Today is the first day I can stand unassisted on my own two feet and I thought maybe I could try to get myself cleaned up, but I can't even shave myself without cutting my face up because my hands won't stop shaking! So no, Christine, I am not okay!"

She stepped quickly over to him, took the razor from his hand and placed it on the counter. "Shhh," she said as she wet a cloth and dabbed at the blood, "it's alright. Just give it some time. Let me take care of it for now. It's all going to be alright…"

"But it's not alright," he complained. "Nothing about this is alright! I'm a grown man! I've been shaving my own face for over a decade now, and never once have I been so pitiful, so pathetic that I've had to have someone else shave me…"

"Oh, hush now," she said lightly as she spread shaving cream on his face. "If you were royalty in the middle ages, you'd not only have someone shave, dress and bathe you, but you'd even have one servant whose sole job was to wipe your princely ass after taking a shit. So you might say I'm giving you the royal treatment today. Except that last part. I am not gonna wipe your ass for you…" She caught him glowering at her attempt at humor and said, "Look, Spencer. You've got temporary physical limitations due to a legitimate medical issue. That is nothing to feel ashamed of. Everyone gets sick once in a while, and every so often everyone needs a hand. You're doing the best you can do to get healthy again, so you just focus on that and let me handle the rest, okay?"

He sat sullenly as she shaved him. When she had finished, she asked, "How about I draw you a bath? Sound like a plan? You can relax in there while I get you some coffee. If you're feeling up to it, maybe I can even fix you some breakfast. Do you feel like you have an appetite at all?"

"You know what I'd like? I want cereal. Something really sugary, preferably with those little marshmallows in them. Do we have anything like that?"

She wrinkled her nose and gave him a look of horror and disgust. "Seriously, dude? You know I could make you anything you like, and all you've got a hankerin' for is some nasty-ass, unnaturally colored, preservative-laden diabetes in a box that's chock full of those cardboardy, fake-ass marshmallows? Damn. Ain't sugar cravings a bitch! And no. We don't have anything like that. But I can make a run to the store if I need to."

"Lucky Charms, if they've got them," he said, hopefully.

"Oh, they'll have them, alright, don't worry," she said, rolling her eyes and grabbing her purse to go to the grocery store. She kissed him on the cheek, promised she'd be back soon, and left the room muttering not-too-quietly to herself, "Woulda made him anything he wanted and what's he want? Goddamn nasty-ass Lucky Charms. Who the fuck over the age of seven eats motherfuckin' Lucky Charms? Coulda had homemade waffles with ice cream on top, but does he want that? Noooooo! Some neon colored bits of kibble with sugary Styrofoam marshmallows. Probably even wants the box with the cheap-ass toy in it…" as she walked down the hall.

He smiled at her ridiculousness as he shut the door behind her and went to check on the bath she had started for him.

As Christine was putting on her shoes down stairs, Alex padded down the stairs, yawning. "Where you going?"

"Eh, I gotta run to the store. The gourmand upstairs has his appetite back, and apparently the only thing that will please his delicate palette this morning is some overly processed sugary cereal with those chalky little marshmallows in it- the more preservatives and the lower the nutritional value, the better."

"Ooh, get some Lucky Charms! They fortify that with vitamins and minerals… They even say so in their ads!"

Christine made a face. "Not you, too?!"  
"Come on," Alex said, "who doesn't like Lucky Charms?"

"Anyone with any taste, discernment or sense of what decent food tastes like."

Alex stuck her tongue out at Christine. "Oh, pooh. They're fun and yummy and you get to see if you can find all the different charms in your bowl and I like them!"

Christine closed her eyes and massaged her temples as if she felt a headache coming on. "Any else you'd like me to pick up while I'm out, oh thou my Queen of Divine Delectables?"

"We're almost out of cream for the coffee," she replied. "Speaking of coffee, uh…how's he doing? Not barfy anymore?"

"No," Christine said with a sigh, suddenly weary again. "That started to ease up yesterday. Now that that shit's just about out of his system, he's got another issue, that his hands are super shaky and he's really restless. See, when people take this stuff, one of the things it does is it slows them way down, both mentally and physically. So after it leaves their bodies, they can't stop moving or thinking, because basically their bodies have forgotten how to calm themselves down. Now real life is hitting him again and he can't relax, he can't sleep, he can't be still because his body has forgotten how to do that without chemical assistance. And this is gonna be the real test for him- as sick and achy as he's been for the last few days, he's tough enough that he could grit his teeth and endure it. But I tell you what- when you can't sleep for a day or two or a week, you'll start to lose your goddamned mind! I've just gotta figure out a way to refocus his attention away from himself and what he's feeling onto something else…"

"How you gonna do that?"

Christine stood silently, shaking her head for a moment before replying, "I…I don't know. I gotta think about that…see if I can't come up with something he can do to keep himself occupied, I guess, but right now, I got nothin'. Anyway, maybe a trip to the store will help me clear my head. Wish me luck!"

"Good luck," Alex said and yawned as she watched her boss head out the door.

Christine took her time at the store and on her way back home, feeling both happy to have a little free time to herself and guilty that she'd left Alex at home with a sick, irritable Spencer. When she finally got back, she gathered her bags and went inside, announcing, "I'm home!"

No one answered.

"Hello?" she called out again.

When still no one answered she became perplexed, then quickly worried, wondering what might have happened to the two of them. She dropped her bags in the foyer and had started up the stairs when she heard Alex's high-pitched laughter follow by Spencer's lower voice saying something indistinguishable coming from her bedroom. At the top of the stairs she turned and headed towards the sound. She found the door slightly ajar and pushed it quietly open, then leaned against the doorframe, unnoticed and smiling, as she watched the two of them.

They were sitting on the bed facing one another with something between them that was unseen to Christine. Spencer's back was to her and she watched as he raised his arm, prompting Alex to squeal, "Stop that! You're only making it worse! Quit encouraging him, he'll only make a mess of everything!"

"Oh, you're no fun," Spencer teased. "Spud likes to play once in a while, too, don't you boy?"

The cat, who had apparently been between the two of them, mewled at the sound of his name, prompting Christine to finally enquire, "What on earth are the two of you up to?"

They both turned in surprise. Alex answered, " _I'm_ trying to teach him how to knit, but _he_ keeps taunting Spud with the yarn!" Looking back at Spencer she chided, "He's just going to get it all tangled up, you know!"

"Oh, but see how he likes it?"

"He's a cat, Spencer," Alex said. "All cats like string. Duh!"

Christine reached out to admire what Spencer had already accomplished. "Gee, I guess I was gone longer than I realized! You've already got a good four inches, here. What's it going to be?"

"A scarf, eventually," he said.

"After he got dressed," Alex explained, "he was pacing, looking for something to do. Sometimes when I get like that, I like to do some kind of craft, so I asked him if he'd like to try…"

"Yes, well," Spencer said, a little bashfully, "my hands were too shaky to accomplish much else, but as long as I can hold on to these needles, then I can do something. And it's surprisingly relaxing, besides…"

Christine smiled and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "Well, that's great to hear! But now, how about you come down for breakfast, sweetheart? I got your Lucky Charms for you…" Spencer suddenly sat up and pressed his lips together, staring straight at Alex, who now avoided eye contact with Christine. "What?" she asked. "Is something wrong? What's going on?"

"Well, ah," Spencer stammered, "you see…we, um…we kinda ate already."

Christine narrowed her eyes and looked from one guilty face to the other and asked, "Oh no. What have the two of you done?"

"Well, Chris," Alex began, "you were, like, taking a really long time and…"

"That's right, Christine," Spencer added quickly. "You were gone nearly two hours, so when you think about it, this wasn't our fault so much as it is yours, because we were hungry and truly didn't know when you'd return. So we were driven to do it…"

Christine stared at them and said slowly and deliberately, "What…have…you two…done?"

Alex winced and said quietly, "He was looking for candy, so I…I showed him where you hid your private stash of Red Vines in your office, but then…then we found what else you had in there…"

Christine's eyes grew wide. "No. Just…no. Oh dear God, tell me you didn't…!" She stood up, stared at the two of them, then turned and ran down the hall. They waited, looking at one another, then heard her scream from her office, " _GODDAMMIT!"_ They listened as she came charging back down the hall and into Alex's bedroom, holding a candy box they already knew only had three pieces left in it. "Seriously, guys? Really? You ate all of my Dixies? I can't get these anywhere but Chicago, and they're pretty fucking expensive!"

Spencer smiled sheepishly. "And for good reason, darling. They're quite delicious!"

"Are you fucking kidding me? No…no! Stop it. Don't you try to smile your way out of this, mister! There was nearly a pound and a half of these left in this box, and they were a birthday present for _me_ from _my_ auntie! You can't just lay waste to my private candy stash simply because I'm running late and you two have no self-control!"

"He…he ate most of them," Alex said timidly, pointing at Spencer.

"Shhh!" he whispered. "I thought we were sticking together on this!"

"Dude, I can hear you, you know," Christine said peevishly.

"And you should know, Christine, since we now live together and are supposedly sharing our lives, that I find it rather troubling that you would not only go to such lengths to hide a few simple candies from me, but indeed that you should even react so angrily and vociferously over the loss of a few of them-"

"A few!?" she cried, cutting him off. "Try a few dozen, Spencer!"

"-that you should react in such a manner," he continued, "makes me question just how serious you are about our relationship, dear. I mean, don't you want us to share our lives? Do you even truly love me?"

Alex stared at him for a moment when he nodded at her, and said, "Huh? Oh! Oh yeah! Yeah, Chris- don't you care about us, too? I thought we were friends!"

Christine folded her arms across her chest and glared at the two of them. "Oh, I get it. See, you two knew that what you were doing was wrong as you were doing it, so you got together and came up with this pathetic little plan to try and turn it all around on me, huh? And…and stop doing that, Spencer!"

"Stop doing what?" he asked innocently.

"You know goddamn well what! You think that if you show me those sad, puppy dog eyes or flash a big, toothy smile at me that I'll just forgive and forget that you two sneaky little chicken shits got into my private candy stash and rooted around like a pair of wild hogs! Well, guess what guys? I'm still pissed! Stop looking at me like that!" She began to pace, still fuming. "You know what? Right now, I'm glad I left that ice cream downstairs with the rest of the groceries to turn into soup by the front door, because frankly, neither of you deserve it right now! And to think, I even splurged to get you the fancy, expensive stuff as a special treat!"

They both sat up and suddenly acted serious. "Really?" Alex asked. "There's ice cream?"

"Yeah. I even went all out and got whipped cream and cherries and caramel and hot fudge and everything for you guys. Hell, I even bought mini-gummy bears and M&Ms like you like, but now no one's put it away and it's all thawing out because no one's willing to help me put it away…"

"We're on it," Spencer said as he and Alex stood up and hurried out the door past her.

Christine watched as they disappeared down the stairs to put away the things she'd left and turned to look at Spud, who remained on the bed, rolling around on the yarn they'd left behind. "Can you believe those two?" she said to him. "Un-fucking-believable. Sometimes I think the only member of this household that's not bat shit crazy is you, Spud- the goddamned cat." She rolled her eyes and sighed as she left and followed them downstairs, trying not to smile at their ridiculousness.

* * *

Several days later, Christine poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it out to enjoy on the veranda. Spencer's sleep patterns were still not anywhere close to normal, which meant that she, too, had gotten nothing approaching a sufficient amount of sleep in the week since their ordeal had started. They were both exhausted and irritable as a result, and though their stress and fatigue had yet to boil over into an actual fight, she could feel the tension between them simmering. She tried to remind herself that it was no one's fault, that this was to be expected. Indeed, he was to be commended for having stuck it out thus far. Not once had he ever expressed to her any desire to use, even when he'd been at his most miserable. And there had been moments when she had seen his old self come out again- his sweet, goofy, affably dorky and adorably unique self. She'd been right- under all that hurt, all those scars to his body and mind, and all those bad choices, he was still there, and she _would_ get him back. But the lack of sleep had been wearing both of their nerves, so when he decided to get in the shower after her that morning, she seized the opportunity to escape out the front door for a few moments of peace and fresh air.

She hadn't been out there long when she heard the sound of a car coming up the drive. She sighed heavily and turned to see who it might be- she certainly hadn't been expecting anyone to come at about 11:00 on a Sunday morning. She sat up as the car stopped and watched as Aaron Hotchner got out. She smoothed her hair, wishing she'd been a bit more careful with it that morning, forced herself to smile and stood to greet him as he started up the steps to the veranda. "Morning!" she said cheerfully.

"Good morning. I hope you don't mind my stopping by- I tried to call you first to see if it was alright, but I didn't get an answer."

"What?" she asked, fishing her phone out of her back pocket. "Well look at that. I'll be damned. You did call. Must have had the ringer off, though why I never felt my butt vibrate is a mystery…"

"If now is not a good time, I can leave," he said, apologetically. "I just thought since I had some errands to run in the area that I'd come by and see how he's doing."

"No, no- it's fine. Please, come in."

As she reached for the door, he asked quietly, "So…how is he doing?"

Christine turned and managed a little smile. "Oh, well…it's, ah…it's been a pretty crazy week. He spent the first few days throwing up what seemed to be, like, everything he's ever eaten in his life. So, needless to say, he's lost a little weight. He's mostly past that. Now he's just reached this stage where he's unbelievably restless. He can't sleep, can't sit still…his hands were shaking badly there for a while, and that's settled down. But the insomnia…" she shook her head and continued, "you know, the human body just needs sleep. When you don't get it, it doesn't just make you feel tired. It affects your whole mental and emotional state. He was depressed and ashamed before, and now the fatigue is just magnifying that. So he's been on kind of an emotional roller coaster, you know? He's had some good moments, but it's really starting to wear him down…"

"And you, too, I'm guessing."

"Yeah. Yeah, you could say that. Anyway, come on in," she said opening the door. "You go on in and have a seat in the parlor. He was taking a shower earlier, but I think he's probably done now. Just give me a minute."

Hotch sat down and watched as she disappeared up the stairs. Feeling something brush up against his leg he looked down and said to Spud, "Well, hello there. And how have you been, hmm? Have you been taking good care of your master, too? Sure you have…" He reached down and scratched him between the ears, until he heard a voice from the doorway.

"Oh, hey. Didn't realize we had company. Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee, maybe?"

He looked up and smiled. "No, thank you, Alex."

"You sure?"

"Yes," he answered. "I'm sure." He saw her hesitate for a minute and asked, "So how have you been bearing up through all this?"

"Oh, you know," she said, frowning a little, "I'm okay, I guess. It's just…it's hard, you know, when your friends down feel good. It hurts a little to see that. But I'm okay. Chris- she says it's pretty normal, and he's getting better, so that's cool, right? I just can't wait until he's back to his old self again."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Well, he's definitely doing the right thing. I'm sure he'll get better soon. He's definitely got a lot of love and support here from you two- from you three," he said, pointing at Spud.

Alex smiled. "Yeah, Spud's been a real rock for us all. When Spencer's not doing so good and he can't stand to be around people any more, he still likes Spud to keep him company."

"Animals are wonderful that way. They don't judge you or talk back to you or tell you what to do. All they do is love you."

"Yeah, and Spud's the best when it comes to loving people, aren't you boy?" They both looked up when they heard footsteps coming down the stairs and she said, "I guess I'll leave you guys to talk then. Nice seeing you again."

"You, too, Alex."

A moment later Spencer followed Christine into the room and sat down. "Good morning, Dr. Reid," Hotch began. "I hope I'm not disturbing you…"

"No," he said quietly, looking down. "Not at all."

After an awkward pause, Hotch spoke again. "I'm glad to see you're doing well," he lied. Reid didn't look well at all. Christine had been right. He looked exhausted. He hadn't shaved since the day Christine had helped him to do so, there were dark circles under his eyes, and he was painfully thin.

"It's good to see you, too, sir," he replied. It was also a lie. He hadn't been in the mood to see anyone at that moment, perhaps least of all his boss, and he felt his already fragile ego withering with shame in the other man's presence. Nevertheless, he swallowed hard once and said, "So how are things at work? Any interesting cases this week?"

"Well," Hotch began, thankful to have something else to talk about, "we did have one this week that-"

"No!" Christine said sternly. They both looked up at her. "No shop talk! Not now- I won't allow it! Look, you both know even better than I do that as long as the human race exists, bad guys will do bad things, and good guys will be there to stop them. Now, I know the two of you love your work, but right now this good guy needs to worry only about getting himself healthy, and if I let you talk about some fascinating case, then he's only going to focus on getting back to work as soon as possible. You tried that already, Spencer- ignoring your own well-being for the sake of the job- and you," she said, pointing at Hotch, "you let him. Hell, I let him, too. We all done fucked up on that matter, and look what it got us! It could have killed him, that's what. So talk about weather, talk about the movies, talk about the goddamned hairy cat for all care, but you are _not_ talking about work right now under my roof! I forbid it!"

They looked back at one another and Hotch said, "So, Dr. Reid, tell me- what do you think of this weather we've been having?"

Spencer smiled slyly at him and replied, "I haven't been paying much attention to it. I've been spending too much time watching movies with the cat."

As they both chuckled to themselves Christine said, "Great. Now that's more like it." She sat down and added under her breath, "Smartasses…"

They laughed a little while longer and fell again into silence. At last Hotch spoke saying, "Reid, I hope you don't think that I hold you in any less esteem now than I ever have. All of us, at some point in our lives, have troubles, and sooner or later, we all need help. That does not mean you are a failure. It is just part of being human. For my part, I hope you will forgive me. You and I, we know better than anyone how devastating a psychological trauma can be. I knew that, and I also knew that you should not have returned to work as soon as you did, but I allowed you to return, anyway. And after you did, I could tell you were not well, but I…I feel now as though I could see you were drowning, and I didn't offer you a life preserver. I failed you as a supervisor, as a colleague, and as a friend. That was my fault, and I hope you will find it within you to forgive me, because I of all people should have known better. There is no shame in hurting and in needing help, only in not taking that help once you know you need it. You've already started to take the necessary steps to get it, and for that I both respect and admire you, because I know it cannot be easy."

Spencer looked at him and opened his mouth, but no words came out. Finally he said quietly, "No, Hotch. This is no one's fault but my own."

Christine took hold of his hand and said, "Sweetheart, none of us exists in a vacuum. We're all put here together for a reason, and we are each responsible for one another. And Aaron's right- we each had a part to play in this, but now you're doing the right thing, we're proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself, too."

"Well," he said quietly, "maybe someday I will be…"

"You will get through this," Hotch said. "I am certain of that. You're got the personal strength and resolve, and I know you know you've got nothing but love and support here at home. You've also got my full support."

Spencer simply nodded.

Hotch continued, "And Christine has told me you start therapy tomorrow. I've looked into the program she told me about- they have had excellent results…"

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah, that," he said. "I…I just don't know what talking about my feelings in front of a bunch of other junkies and strangers can do to help me, but Chris is insistent."

"Hey," Christine said, squeezing his hand. "I know the thought of it makes you uncomfortable, but try and keep an open mind. They have a great track record and a lot of proven success. Of course, you'll only get out of it what you put into it, so just try, okay?"

"Yes, of course. Of course I'll try. I promised you I would, didn't I?"

Christine smiled at him and, knowing the subject made him uncomfortable, shifted the conversation by asking Hotch about Jack. They made pleasant small talk for several minutes as Hotch told them about the words he was beginning to use, the stories he liked to have read, and how he squealed and splashed in the bathtub- for now, that seemed to be his favorite activity. At length Hotch said, "Well, I'd better finish my errands, then, and get home for lunch before Haley gets too upset with me. Thank you for having me over, and Dr. Reid- good luck to you. I'm glad to see you're doing well."

"Yes, thanks for dropping by, Aaron. Let me get your coat and show you out," Christine said, standing up. Hotch said nothing to object; he got the distinct feeling she had something else to say to him.

As they stepped out onto the veranda, he said, "Well, you were certainly right- he does seem terribly depressed, doesn't he?"

She smiled weakly. "It's funny, you know- a few days ago, after the nausea passed, he felt great. He was laughing and chatting like his old self- he even let Alex teach him how to knit, if you can believe that. It was great! But then he has these times late at night when he can't sleep and all he can think about is how disappointed he is with himself. He's faced disappointment from others, but he's never found it in himself, you know? Until now, he's never encountered a problem he couldn't solve all by himself simply by thinking about it hard enough. That self-doubt is something I don't think he's ever really faced…"

"And he's clearly not excited about going to group therapy…"

She laughed. "Oh, you picked up on that, did you? Yeah, well…would you be excited about it? It's hard enough for him to discuss his feelings and fears and failings with me. The prospect of doing that in front of strangers turns his stomach. I gotta be honest, I wouldn't want to do it…"

Hotch smiled back at her. "I find that hard to believe. I mean, isn't that essentially what you do for a living?"

"Well, sure, in a way. But when I do it, I only say things I've chosen to talk about, and then not until I've written them out, then rewritten them, then rewritten them a few more times, then practiced and rehearsed them all so many times that when I do get to the emotional or embarrassing stuff I can talk about it without breaking down in tears! And even then, I still don't do it unless I'm being paid to do it. But this? What he's going through? That's the real shit, right there. That's gonna be raw, unfiltered and scary as hell. I can tell you this, though- if I've learned anything as a comedian, it's that there is incredible power, validation and liberation to be found in giving voice to your own feelings. You can have a thousand thoughts rushing through your mind at once, and you can listen to them and ponder them until they drive you mad. But it's when you finally find the courage to stand up and say, 'Hey, chuckleheads! I've got the floor here! It's my turn to get something off my chest and by God, that is just what I'm gonna do, so y'all sit down, shut your pie-holes and listen up, because what I've got to say matters- because I matter. I deserve to be heard.' The funny thing I've found is, when I do get up and give voice to my feelings, one of two things happen- some people laugh just because they think, 'Whoa, that bitch is bat shit crazy! Can you believe people actually do that shit or think like that?' So they laugh and I get paid and it's all cool. Then there are other people, and I never fail to be surprised at how many of them are out there, that go, 'Holy shit. I thought I was the only person in the world who was that crazy! But she's just like me! This is amazing!' And that's a really cool thing. It's empowering knowing that as crazy you think you are, there are others out there who are crazy in almost the exact same way."

Hotch couldn't help but laugh; he'd never known someone who regarded craziness as something to be embraced and celebrated quite like Christine. "So, is that why, of all the things you could have done with your life, you decided perform comedy?"

"What, for self-validation and empowerment? Fuck, no. Those are pleasant by-products. No, the real reason is because I didn't want my obituary to be boring." He chuckled, but she insisted, "No, I'm actually very serious about that! See, when I was first diagnosed, I suddenly realized that there was a very real possibility that, at the age of 18, my family would have to plan my funeral. And what would they write about me in the paper? 'Christine Arcangeli, 18, died yesterday after a brief battle with cancer. Her life was short, but she was a smart girl and a good daughter. She studied well, did everything her family expected of her, and then, sadly, she passed away before she ever really got to live. She will be missed.' And that would be it. There wouldn't be anything else to say about me because there wasn't anything anyone _could_ say about me. Somehow, I found that idea more terrifying than actually dying- the thought that, once I was dead, it…it just wouldn't matter. I mean, my family would be sad, but other than that, what difference would it make? The world would never even know I'd ever been in it, and there wouldn't be one person who could really say, 'You know? I'm glad I knew her. She made a difference in my life.' That…that scared the shit outta me, because if I died and it turned out that it had never even mattered that I had lived, then what was the point of my life? Right about that time, Joe got a job in New York and started doing standup and when I visited him, I was like, 'Wow! That looks amazing! Wish I could do that!' Of course I immediately shut down that idea, because I told myself I was too shy and goofy looking and no one would ever give a damn about anything I had to say. And then one night I was lying in bed and I thought that, if this were my last night on earth, would I want to go out this way? I imagined myself lying on my deathbed wondering, 'What if? What if I had only tried?' That's when I decided to do it, to become a comedian- or to at least try. I didn't ever want to find myself in that position. I didn't want to die with any regrets. And you know what, Aaron? It's worked out pretty damn well for me."

"I should say so," he said with a smile. "You've made a very successful career for yourself. You've got nothing to regret."

"If you'd told me that a few months ago, I would have agreed with you. And then…then _this_ all happened. When that man in there went missing, I…I, uh…I really didn't know if I'd get him back." She stopped for a moment, struggling for words as tears began to flow down her cheeks. "And _that's_ when it hit me- if he died, then I would have one regret- the regret to end all regrets. I would live the rest of my life knowing that he had died without ever knowing how much I truly loved him. I would be on my deathbed one day knowing that he had died, all alone, without knowing that he was my life. My whole world. The only man I ever wanted and could ever love. And the worst part of that was there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it, but sit and wait for a phone call from you, telling me if my life was over, or if I had a second chance at it."

Hotch said quietly, "I've often wondered about that. The night we brought him back, you told me, 'You saved my life,' not, 'You saved _his_ life.' I had assumed you misspoke…"

"No," she said. "Not that time. If he hadn't made it back, I couldn't have lived with myself. But you did bring him back, and for that I don't think I can ever thank you enough."

He looked at her for a moment then smiled and said, "Well, you could always consider naming your firstborn Aaron…"

She laughed aloud. "That'll be the day."

He chuckled, too, and said, "It's just a suggestion. I'll let you think about it. You've got some time."

She smiled again and held out her hand. "Thanks again, Aaron. For everything."

He shook her hand and said, "And thank you. Take care of him- of both of yourselves."

"Will do."

"Good luck," he said as he got in his car and started it.

She stood and waved as he drove away. After he was out of sight, she turned, looked back at the house, and sighed before heading starting back up the stairs.

* * *

A/N

There's a candy company, headquartered in Chicago, called Fannie May that makes (among other things) a popular treat called a Pixie, which is caramel covered with pecans covered with chocolate which can be found in Fannie May shops and groceries stores all over the Midwest. I, like Christine, hate chocolate, and therefore prefer their much harder to find Dixies, which are Pixies minus the chocolate. They're not cheap, but they are amazing.


	33. Chapter 33

"Thank you," Spencer said as Christine poured his coffee for him. She poured a cup for herself and sat down opposite him at the kitchen table. "Aren't you going to have any breakfast yourself?"

She blew on her coffee, took a sip and set it down. "I've got some bread in the toaster," she replied.

Spencer stared down at his bowl of cereal and took another bite unenthusiastically. Today was the day he was to start group therapy. He wondered if this was how a convicted criminal felt before his sentencing hearing; he knew it would be unpleasant- he just didn't know to what extent.

"Oh!" Christine said suddenly. She stood up, left the kitchen and returned a moment later with her purse. As she rummaged through it, she explained, "I have something for you…it occurred to me the other day that these might come in handy…where the hell? Oh! There they are!" She pulled out what she'd found and pushed it across the table to him.

He stared at the box and then looked at her, his spoon still poised in mid-air. "Cigarettes? Why on earth would I need cigarettes?"

"Ah, see, I figured you could use them to make friends!" she said, smiling at her own cleverness.

He continued to stare at her. "You're kidding, right? So what's you're rationale, dear? I should take up smoking so that all the other junkies think I'm the coolest kid in rehab? No, thank you."

"No, dingus! Look- you've got two breaks scheduled today, and I can guarantee you that in a room full of addicts, you're going to be just about the only non-smoker. I can also guarantee that if not today, then sometime soon, one of those addicts is gonna need to bum a cigarette off someone. And that'll be where you come in!"

"That has got to be one of the most ridiculous ideas you've ever had, Chris, and believe me- I've heard you say some pretty ridiculous things!"

"I know, right?" she said, still smiling. "They call that being crazy like a fox!" She took a bite of the toast she'd made and asked, "So, uh…is that what you're wearing, then?"

"Yes, of course. Why not? Is there something wrong with it?"

"No no. You look great. A little formal, perhaps…"

"Well, I'm not wearing a tie, as least. You told me to dress casually," he replied.

"Yes, and…well, I mean, dress pants paired with a dress shirt and that vest and accessorized with a designer watch and $500 shoes is…it's…it's still not very casual, even if you left off the tie. But hey, you look fantastic, Sparky. Very handsome. The most important part is that you feel comfortable."

"I do. Very comfortable."

They ate for a minute in silence before Christine asked, "So, how's it all feel to you? Are you nervous?"

"Honestly?"

"No," she replied sarcastically, "please- lie to me, baby! Of course I want you to be honest with me!"

He took a sip of coffee and said, "Right now I am feeling a sense of dread mixed with humiliation. I would rather not go. I will go simply because I have promised that I would, and because I know in theory that this type of therapy works. But I still don't fully understand what I'm supposed to gain from this group experience that I couldn't learn from personal study."

"Yeah, I get that. I mean, that's how you've always conquered every obstacle you've ever faced, right? By doing it all yourself? But maybe, just this once, someone can teach you something you can't learn in a book. Who knows? Just try and keep an open mind, I guess."

"Yeah. I guess…"

They finished the rest of their breakfast in relative silence before driving to the small, private clinic. It was located in small strip mall, sandwiched in between an insurance agency and an investment planning office. Spencer wondered at the strange location and cynically questioned the likelihood that a bunch of junkies and mental patients might have need of such financial services, but he said nothing. Christine put the car in park and said, "Well, this is it! Now, they're going to need to see your insurance card when you go in. Do you have it on you?"

"Yes, dear," he replied flatly.

"Would you like me to come in and help fill out paperwork?"

"No, Chris. I'm quite certain I'm capable of filling out the forms by myself."

She nodded silently, then mustered a smile and said, "Alright. I guess that's it, then." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek before saying, "Good luck!"

"Yes, thanks," he replied simply and got out.

* * *

When she pulled back into the parking lot three hours later to pick him up, she saw him standing outside, apart from the small group that was had gathered to smoke and chat, she could tell that his enthusiasm for the process had not grown. After he'd gotten in the car and fastened his seat belt she asked, "Did you forget the cigarettes I gave you?"

"No. They simply all had their own."

"Ah," she replied. There was a brief silence before she asked, "So…how'd it go? Was everyone nice to you?"

He sighed. He'd had the strange feeling the entire day as if he'd stepped into an alternate dimension, one in which he was a child again, starting his first day of school. The difference was that when he had actually started school he'd been thrilled. He'd been a small boy, eager to meet new people, experience new things, and show his teacher and classmates just how terribly bright he was. Today he was a grown man- one not at all excited at the prospect of revealing to complete strangers how truly foolish and flawed he'd become. He knew Christine was trying hard to help him stay positive, however, so he merely replied, "Yes, dear. They were nice to me."

"Did you learn anything today?"

 _Again with the schoolboy questions_ , he thought, but bit his tongue and pondered the question for a moment. "Actually, there was something I observed that did surprise me?"

"Oh yeah? What was that?"

"Well, in the course of doing my job, I've encountered quite a few individuals with substance abuse problems, but…but these people weren't really as I expected them to be…"

"How did you expect them to be?" Christine asked.

"I guess…I guess I expected them to be scarier. Or stupid. Maybe I expected them to be…more miserable and pathetic than they are. Perhaps that is how they were when they were still actively using but," he shrugged his shoulders and paused for a moment before continuing, "they were all surprisingly normal. And even more surprisingly, they all seemed to be genuinely thoughtful and intelligent people."

"That shouldn't surprise you too much, sweetheart," Christine said. "After all, you're just about the most thoughtful and intelligent man I know, and this happened to you, but perhaps that's one of the great truths of addiction- I do not think there has ever been a child born into this world who sat upon his parent's knee and when asked, 'What do you want to be when you grow up?' responded by saying, 'I wanna be a junkie, Mommy!' It seems to me much more likely that people simply get caught up in a toxic mix of unfortunate circumstances and poor decisions that spiral beyond their ability to control them."

He sat quietly for a moment before answering, "Perhaps you're right. So perhaps I did learn something today- to have a little respect for them."

She pulled the car up in front of the house, put it in park, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "Well, that's a wonderful thing to learn, Sparky. Hopefully, you'll keep a little bit of that respect for yourself, too."

* * *

On Friday morning, he stepped out of the shower to find Christine on her phone. She was pacing about the room, shaking her head and waving her hands as if the individual on the other end were capable of registering her level of exasperation through her body language.

"No, no…listen! Did you at least shut the water off? The water, dumbass! Holy shit, I swear to God, there is an idiot gene in this family that skips a generation! Put Petey on the phone…Alright, now, I need you to turn the water off…By turning the little knob on the pipe until the water stops, that's how!...Well, if it doesn't turn off when you turn it one direction, then try turning it the other direction!...Okay, so it's off? Alright, so let's go over this again. How did this happen?"

Spencer stepped out of the closet as he was buttoning up his shirt. Christine rolled her eyes at him and mouthed the words, _Oh my fucking God_ , causing him to smile broadly. After another few minutes of exasperated pronouncements she hung up and sat down heavily on the bed. "Dare I ask what that was all about?" he ventured.

She groaned loudly. "So, apparently my brother and his lovely wife took the younger kids on some overnight adventure somewhere. Emmie is at a friend's house, and the three red-headed destructomatics were left home alone because they're almost 16 now and can reasonably be expected not to destroy the house in a single night, right? Wrong, because it seems they're trying pretty damned hard to do just that! Now, I couldn't get a straight answer out of any of them regarding precisely what happened, but somehow when one of them went into the bathroom to drop a deuce this morning he cracked the tank on the toilet. I know- shocking, right? So, they've flooded the upstairs bathroom, and they're too afraid to call their parents, who will come home to crack their heads together, or to even enlist Emmie's help, because she'll probably do worse to them. So before it even occurred to that brain trust over there to, uh, _turn off the goddamned water_ , they decided to call Auntie Chris to come fix it, I'm guessing because they assume that somewhere in my studies of history and the earth and health science lies a wealth of plumbing knowledge. So, I hate to do this to you, but I think their issue is rather urgent over there…do you think you'd be able to drive yourself to therapy today?"

"Well, of course I know the route to get there, but…ah…" Spencer said, wincing.

"What?" Christine asked, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"It's the transmission on my car…"

"What's wrong with your transmission?"

"It's not technically _in_ my car at the moment. I took it apart a few weeks ago and wasn't able to finish putting it back together before…all this happened."

"Oh, thank God," Christine exclaimed, relieved. "Is that all? Maybe you should seize upon this as an opportunity to just scrap that piece of shit and get something I don't have to be ashamed of being seen in!"

"Don't talk about Dyrbara that way! She's a classic!"

"You named your Volvo Deborah?"

"Dyrbara. It means 'precious' in Swedish, because that's what she is…"

Christine stared at him, then rolled her eyes again and said, "And people tell me _I'm_ crazy…anyway, take your pick. I'm going to take Alex's truck 'cause I'll probably have to be buying crap at the hardware store, so you take the Jetta or the Mustang, as you please. Hell, if you're really in the mood for fun, you can even take the A-Team van, if you'd like…"

"Gee, I don't know if I'm cool enough to drive your van, dear. I suppose I'll just have to get by with your Mustang."

"Whatever you want, sweet cheeks," she said as she swatted his bottom on her way into the closet to get dressed. "All I ask is that you make a good-faith effort not to wrap it around a telephone pole. I love that car, you know." She stepped out of the closet and kissed him on the cheek. "Oh, and you. I love you, too."

He smiled and leaned down to kiss her back. "Thanks, baby doll. And I love you."

* * *

When Christine came home in the evening, she found Alex at work in the kitchen. "Starting dinner already?" she asked.

"Yeah…" she said, wrinkling up her nose as she shoved her hand into a bowl. "I don't know why you won't let me use the mixer to make this stuff, though…"

"Hey, that's how my mother taught me. You can't wash dishes in cold water, you can't slice apples for a pie sitting down, and you can't mix meatloaf with anything but the two hands that God gave you."

"Blech. This raw meat is just…nasty feeling."

"Did you throw in the raw egg yet?" Christine asked.

"No…"

"Well, wait till you do that. It'll be a real treat."

"Gee, I can't wait," Alex answered, sticking her tongue out at Christine.

"Hey, you think I'm crazy, but someday you'll be thanking me for these cooking lessons," she said as she unwrapped a caramel and popped it in her mouth. "So, uh, is Spencer home?"

"Yeah, he came back, I dunno, maybe an hour ago."

"That late? Did he say why he got back so late?"

"No," Alex said with a shrug. "All I know is that he looked really tired. He said he was going to go read for a while and to call him when dinner was ready."

"Okay," Christine said, as she cracked an egg into Alex's bowl and tossed the shell, "well, you finish that up and toss it all in a pan; I'll go check on him and see you in 45 minutes!"

Christine walked down the hall to the library, picking at the caramel stuck to her teeth in a decidedly unladylike manner and wondering why he had been so late in getting home- and why he had seemed so tired when he did. She paused at the door and took a deep breath, trying to tell herself he couldn't possibly be so fuckwitted as to try and score on his way home from rehab- could he? She closed her eyes for a moment, put on a smile, and opened the door. "May I come in?" she asked quietly.

He was sitting in a chair so that she couldn't see his face from where she stood, but she did notice that his book was upside down across his knee. Her heart stood still in her chest for a moment. If he wasn't stoned, then something else was definitely wrong. He sat up at the sound of her voice and rubbed the back of his neck as though it was sore and said softly, "Yes, of course. Come on in."

Christine entered and shut the door quietly behind her before sitting down on the sofa near him. "So," she began tentatively, "how'd it go today?"

He turned and smiled wearily at her. "I suppose I should be asking you that question, shouldn't I? I'll bet your story is more entertaining than mine…"

She sat back and laughed. "Holy shit. So, it seems those boys had attempted to fix what they perceived to be a leak in the toilet by tightening the bolts on the inside of the tank, right? The real problem was likely that the flush valve just wasn't sealing, but now we'll never know. Anyway, I theorize that in tightening those bolts they unwittingly cracked the bottom of the tank, so that when Jamie sat down and leaned back, the whole tank cracked open. Luckily it's a pretty common toilet and we found and identical tank down at Lowes, so we just had to install it. They can't use it for 24 hours while the sealant cures, but I did a pretty damn good job putting it in, if I do say so myself."

"They made you install it for them?"

"I insisted on it. I didn't trust any of those three stooges to do it properly. I did leave them to shampoo the carpet in there, though. What I don't get is who in their right mind installs carpet in a bathroom? I mean, what the hell was my brother thinking? Especially with all those boys in the house. You can't tell me they don't miss the bowl now and then. That whole rug should be torn out and burned. God knows what nastiness is festering in that. It's just gross, right?"

Spencer simply smiled. "I prefer not to imagine it, dear."

"Yeah, it's best you don't. It'd probably give you nightmares. So how about you? Alex mentioned you came home kinda late…everything okay?"

He sighed, closed his eyes and massaged his temples with one hand. "I, um…I gave one of the other individuals a ride home after group. We ended up talking for quite a while." He paused for a moment then looked at her. "Do you ever find yourself in a situation where…where you're feeling so many different emotions at once that you simply don't know how you feel?"

Christine leaned forward, her hands clasped before her, and looked intently at him. "That doesn't sound like you. You're more of a thinking sort of guy than a feeling sort of guy. Perhaps that's why you need this therapy, though. Anyway, to answer your question- yeah. Yeah, I feel like that sometimes. Sometimes things happen that stir up so many strong emotions at once that I don't quite know what to make of them all. Like, a few months ago, there was this guy I went to school with, his name was Darren. And growing up, he was never particularly nice to me. Actually, that's kind of an understatement. Often he was downright mean to me. He'd stuff me in my locker or play keep away with my bike after school. Sometimes he'd even do this thing where he'd pick me up and dump me in a trashcan at school. And apparently after high school he got his teaching certificate, taught for a while, eventually became a high school principal somewhere in downstate Illinois. Anyway, I found out a few months ago he'd died. I guess for a few years he'd been suffering from some neurological condition, and doctors had tried some experimental chemotherapy on him to try to slow the progression of his paralysis. It seems, though, that that caused him to develop leukemia, which no one noticed because he was already so sick. By the time they caught it on a Sunday, it was already so advanced that he was dead by Wednesday. When I heard about all that, I didn't know what all I felt. I mean, for years I hadn't been able to think about that guy without hating him. He made life hell for me. But I never would have wished death upon him. And by all accounts, he was an excellent teacher, the sort of man who really cared about every student he had. He also had a wife and two little kids. So then I thought, damn. For all these years, I thought he nothing but a petty, superficial, bullying douche. Well, maybe he had been, once upon a time. But he grew out of it. And me? Here I was, still carrying around all this crippling hurt and anger for a guy who probably never thought of me at all. So who was at fault for all that hurt, huh? All that anger I held on to for all those years? The guy who went through a phase in school, picking on the goofy little smart-ass ginger, or the smart-ass ginger who just couldn't let it go after all those years? He was only 33 years old. When he died, I didn't know what to feel. I still don't, not really, except for perhaps profound sadness- for him, for me, and for the whole stupid, childish situation."

Spencer sat quietly for a moment then said, "Every day in group we have a time where we go around and share if we've experienced any urges or cravings to use, and we discuss what we did in order to resist those urges and stay sober. Today when we were talking about this, a young woman named Tara said that she'd been in a situation that caused her to panic and want to get high. She had been watching a movie at home with her boyfriend when the two of them started joking around. At one point, he started tickling her, and when he pushed her back on the sofa and got on top of her to tickle her, she freaked out. She started screaming at him and crying- she threw him out of her apartment and then had an overwhelming urge to get high, because, as she put it, it brought up memories she wished she could forget."

"Aw, shit…" Christine said, shaking her head.

"My thoughts, exactly," Spencer replied. "After group I saw her outside, digging in her purse for a cigarette, so I offered her one of the ones you gave me and asked her if she needed a ride home. On the way I told her, 'I know you all have been wondering what I do for a living. The reason why I haven't told anyone is because I thought if you knew what I did, then you guys might not feel comfortable talking around me.' She looked surprised and said, 'Why, are you a cop?' And I said, 'In a way. Specifically, I analyze behavior to help apprehend criminals, and that involves understanding not only how criminals behave, but how their victims behave, as well. So I feel I need to tell you something- I know what happened to you, what you're trying to forget. But more than that, I need you to understand two things, Tara: first, I am so very sorry that happened to you. If I had a way to turn back time and change things so that it never happened to you, I would. Secondly, and most importantly, it was wrong. No matter how it happened, it was wrong. You didn't deserve that, it was not your fault, and no one ever has a right to use your body against your will for their own purposes. You are every bit as important, as valuable and as deserving of dignity and respect as any other human being. That's how you deserve to be treated, and no matter what happened to you in the past, that is how you should be treated, both by others and by yourself."

He paused and sighed heavily. "You'd like her, Chris. She's just nineteen, sweet-natured, and so intelligent. But she was 15 when she was raped, and she's spent the last four years drinking and smoking pot, because she just couldn't stand thinking about what happened to her. It's so…infuriating. She's so smart! She should be in college, looking forward to a career and a family someday. She shouldn't be in rehab because some subhuman piece of filth abused her! Of course, she didn't deal with her trauma properly. Of course, she should have gotten professional help. But no young woman grows up being taught how to properly deal with the aftermath of sexual assault! What a waste…"

"It's not a waste," Christine said softly. "Like you said, she's only nineteen, and she's getting the help she needs now. She has a lot of life yet to live, and she's already learned more about life than most people ever will. If it doesn't break her, she'll be stronger for it."

Spencer ran his hand through his hair then let it fall heavily in his lap. "Perhaps you're right. But that doesn't take away from the fact that I'm so angry, and unspeakably sad. And then…then it occurred to me that, for as many cases as I've studied, as many cases as I've worked, I've never been as upset over what's happened to a victim as I've been since I found out what happened to Tara. I know that this is understandable- I've spent time getting to know her in ways I haven't known other victims. But…" he sighed again and looked up at Christine. "But what's that say about me? What kind of man am I- what kind of _human being_ am I- if I don't truly care about every victim like that? I look at them all so…so academically. I know I need to do that to be able to do my job effectively, and I always thought that I was able to do so because I am simply good at compartmentalizing my emotions. But now I've been thinking- have I become calloused? Is that the kind of man I am, Chris? Can I possibly be so heartless?"

"Sweetheart," she said, reaching out to touch his knee, "you can't possibly believe that. You're the most tenderhearted man I know, and that is a very good thing. I mean, come on- would a heartless man even entertain such thoughts? But I think there's something else that's bothering you right now- something you won't even let yourself think about because it hurts too much…" He looked at her steadily, his lips pressed tightly together as she took his hands in hers. "What you told Tara was absolutely correct. No one has a right to physically impose their will on another's body, but it happened. It happened to her, and dear, that's what happened to you. What was done to you was horrible. It was monstrous. He had no right to do what he did to you. You weren't prepared for it, because how could you be? And while you dealt with it in a terrible way, that doesn't make you a terrible guy. When you see Tara, you see her honestly- as a sweet young lady who is full of potential and has a bright future ahead of her. And Spencer, I'm here to tell you that that is how we all see you. You are a good guy, a wonderful guy! None of us could ask for a better colleague, friend or lover than you. Yeah, you made some mistakes, and you did some pretty shitty things. But none of us who truly know and care about you define you by those mistakes. You are so much more than your mistakes! You need to step back and see yourself for who you truly are- a man who is every bit as perfectly imperfect, as wonderfully weird, and as crazy in the best possible way as most people can only hope to be. Besides," she said, getting up and moving over to sit on his lap, "did I mention you also have the biggest, sexiest, toothiest smile I've ever seen and you're a demon in the sack? Because you are…"

He smiled and put his arms around her as she kissed his cheek. He buried his face in hair and sat there with her, breathing in its smell. "Promise me this," she said in his ear. "Stop giving that man power over you. He had no right to do it before, and he has even less now. He's dead and gone. Don't continue to be his victim. Don't let him haunt you. Don't let him keep you helpless and afraid and doubting yourself, because that's not who you are, sweetheart. You're Spencer Reid. You're a goddamned superhero. And you're the man I love."

He held her closer and murmured into her neck, "I promise."

At length she sat back and said in almost a whisper, "It's about time for Alex to take that meatloaf out of the oven. I'd better go supervise the gravy making or else it'll turn out lumpy, know what I mean?"

He smiled and nodded. "Okay. I'll be out for dinner in a few minutes, then."

After she left, he looked out the window and caught sight of his own faint reflection in it. As he stared at himself it stuck him that the face he now saw was the same face he'd always known. Every morning, every evening, and so many times in between, he had seen that face. It was his face, the same one he'd had when, just a few months before, he'd been so confident and sure of himself. It was the face of a man who was young and successful, brilliant, accomplished and in love. A man who was sure he could do anything if only he set his mind to it. A man who, in his youth, felt as all young men feel, that his health and strength could never leave him, and that the story of his life was one of adventure, good fortune and happiness that would surely be told in time. Then one evening that confidence was shattered, and he found himself helpless and unsure if he would live long enough to see that happy story written. The months that followed, well…they seemed to have served little purpose other than to further erode his faith in ever seeing that happy story written. But now as he sat pondering his reflection, it occurred to him that he was still that man- the man with intelligence, talent…and love. The only thing lacking was the confidence he once had in himself. He wasn't entirely sure how to get that back, but he knew he could trust his friends, and he was certain he could trust Christine. _Maybe that's the key, then,_ he thought. _I'll trust them, and borrow their confidence in me until the day comes when I can have confidence in myself._

He heard a noise, like a pot banging on the counter or floor, followed by loud exclamations and laughter from the women in the kitchen. He smiled and rose to go join them for dinner.

After their meal, Christine and Alex decided to watch some movie Spencer guessed they'd both seen a dozen times before, while he retired once more to the library. Hours passed before he noticed the hour had grown quite late. Opening the door to the hallway he saw no lights and heard not a sound- both women had seemingly gone to bed. He walked softly up the stairs, into the bedroom and changed into his pajamas. As he lay down beside Christine, he put his arm around her waist and kissed her shoulder. She rolled onto her back, brushed his hair back lightly and tucked it behind his one ear. "Hey," she said.

"Hey."

Her fingers passed over his lips and noticed he was smiling at her in the dark. With her other hand she reached over to turn on the small lamp on the nightstand and smiled back at him. "What's got you so happy tonight? Read something interesting?"

"No, not at all. Actually, I was just thinking about what a lucky man I am to have you in my life," he replied. "You're a treasure to me." She laughed, but he insisted, "I'm serious! I don't know where I would be without you, Christine…but I do know I don't ever want to find out."

As he leaned over to kiss her lips, his hand moved from her hip up under the old t-shirt she'd worn to bed and rested on her warm belly. She returned his kisses eagerly and moved her hand down and slipped it into his pajama bottoms. "Well," she said with an impish smile. "Good evening to you, too, Dr. Reid! Looks like I'm going to be the lucky one tonight! It's been a long time, you know…"

"Yes, I know- too long. And for that I am so very sorry…"

"No, don't be! I'm just sorry that I didn't bother to wear something more appealing tonight. Had I known you'd be in the mood, I'd have put a little effort into it!"

"Baby doll, you are always beautiful to me, no matter how you're dressed," he replied. As they kissed once more, she began to unbutton his top. However, when she tried to push it off his shoulders, he balked and shook his head. "Please, don't. I…I don't want you to see it…"

She smiled up at him. "Sweetheart, I have held your hair while watching you barf your guts out, and I'm still here. There's nothing I could see now that would make me think less of you."

He sighed and closed his eyes as she took off his top and tossed it aside. When he opened them again, he saw her looking at the track marks on his arm. She laid her hand gently over them, then looked up at him and said, "You know, the accumulated wisdom of my 27 years on this planet has led to conclude this, that life is a battle. The only people who escape it without bearing scars both within and without are those who never had the courage to fight their way through it. And this…this is just proof that you're fighting- and you're going to win."

He pressed his cheek to hers as he pulled down her panties and whispered, "Oh god, how I love you…"


	34. Chapter 34

_A/N_

 _I usually reserve these notes for the end of the chapter, but today I wanted to get this bit out of the way first. I would like to apologize to my loyal readers for not having posted in nearly three weeks. To briefly explain the slowdown in my output, I will simply say that my real life has sped up. I know some of you have asked me so I will say this- while it may take me longer to post new chapters, I will continue to post. There is a lot more of this story to be told (about 10 seasons worth, anyway!), and I intend to tell it. I still enjoy writing and am not at a loss for ideas; I merely find myself lacking the time needed to write them all down._

 _Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter- I'll be starting the next one later today._

* * *

Spencer lay for a moment with his eyes closed, his cheek pressed against Christine's, before he rolled over to stare up at the sky. "Wow," he finally managed, still breathing heavily. "That was just…wow…"

She laughed and reached down to take his hand. "You took the words right out of my mouth, Sparky!"

He turned to smile at her. "Is that so?"

"Mmmhmm. Guess it's true what they say- great minds really do think alike!" They both chuckled, then she nudged him and said, "Hey, do me a favor and hand me my shorts over there, wouldja?"

He finished zipping up his own pants and handed them to her. As she pulled them on, he sat up and said, "That was absolutely ridiculous, you know. I don't know why I keep letting you talk me into doing such things."

"As I recall it, there wasn't a whole lot of talking that actually took place…"

"Ah, but there was before hand, darling. I still think it's a ludicrous idea to eat a meal off the ground…"

"Oh, come on," she complained. "It's called a picnic. They're supposed to be quaint and romantic, and it seems to me I pretty much nailed it with the romantic element."

"No, you nailed it with the suggestive way you were eating that banana. I know you were doing that on purpose!"

"So you knew all that and yet still were powerless to resist me? Yeah, some genius you are!"

"Hey," he protested, "who's saying I wanted to resist?"

"I dunno, you're the one bitching about it!"

"All I'm saying is that it would have been both more comfortable and more hygienic if we'd had lunch inside and then had sex in bed!"

"Look, sweetheart, if you're idea of great sex is making sure it's as hygienic as possible, then you're doing it wrong."

He smiled and shook his head. "And what if Alex had come home early and seen us out here in the backyard?"

"Okay, first of all, no. When Alex said she was going out for coffee, I'm pretty sure that was code for going to hang out with Grant, and unless _he's_ doing it wrong, she'll be a while. But if he _is_ doing it wrong and she needs to get her thrills by watching us screw, then I'm both happy to oblige and of the opinion that you should have a talk with that young man and make sure he understands how to do it right."

Spencer gave Christine a look of both horror and dismay. "Now you're just being disgusting."

Christine raised one eyebrow and said with a smirk, "I'm being disgusting? You study some of the most horrific crimes human beings have ever committed, and you think talking about what you and I do is disgusting? Sure, alright…"

"That's different. Some things are simply supposed to be private. I work with Anderson, after all."

"Yeah, I guess it would make for awkward conversation around the water cooler, wouldn't it? Imagine you go down to the kitchen to get your breakfast and there's Grant standing there in nothing but his bathrobe, sipping coffee," Christine said, laughing at the idea.

Spencer groaned. "Now, why did you have to go and put that image into my mind? It's going to be strange enough going into work tomorrow without having to think about that…"

"Sorry," Christine said, still giggling. "Anyway, just play it cool tomorrow. All I authorized Aaron to say was that you were on sick leave, and as long as he's managed to keep Penny in line and out of your insurance files, that's all they know. You could just play it off like you had the 'flu or something."

"No one's out for three weeks with the 'flu…"

"Hey, it's possible. Influenza can be extremely serious, even deadly. People tend to label as 'flu every little stomach bug or low-grade fever they get, when what they're actually suffering from can range from-"

"Yes, Christine, I'm aware."

"Anyway, if anyone asks, simply say you were ill, that you're doing much better now, and thank them for their concern and well-wishes. Then ask them a question about themselves. People always love to talk about themselves…"

Spencer smiled. "That is indeed some keen insight into the human psyche, my dear. Perhaps I'm rubbing off on you!"

"Nah. If you were rubbing off on me I'd be way more organized and a much sharper dresser by now. I'd probably cuss a lot less, too. It's gonna be weird for you, though, being back for such a short time before leaving again."

"Leaving again?" Spencer asked, knowing full well what she meant.

"Don't play dumb with me, and don't you dare try and weasel your way out of going on vacation, either!"

He sighed. "Baby doll, I know you've been excited about that trip, but we're just going to have to reschedule it…"

"Oh, no you don't!"

"Christine, be reasonable! I just took three weeks off work! I can't turn around and immediately take another two off!" When she crossed her arms and scowled at him, he reached out to hold her, only to have her shake him off. "Dear, please. I'll make it up to you, I promise!"

"No. Absolutely not. I know you- you'd only find new and more inventive excuses for not taking time off work, and we'd never go."

"But we will, I promise! What…what are you looking at?" He gazed up at the sky to see what she was staring so intently at.

"I'm looking for buzzards, you jerk, because that huge pile of horse shit you're shoveling right now is bound to attract them! We're going on that vacation and we're leaving in three weeks and that's final! Besides," she said, suddenly smiling sweetly, "I've already told Aaron you need that time off, and he's cool with it."

Spencer groaned. "Of course you did…"

"I did. Medical leave is medical leave, and vacation is vacation. You are entitled to both."

"Meanwhile, I'm left to feel guilty for taking so much time off while everybody else on my team works all the harder in my absence…"

"Then it's their own damned faults for not scheduling vacation. You'll just have to be content with feeling guilty while seated under a palm tree, sipping a Mai Tai and watching the waves. Poor Spencer- you've got it real rough."

"Dear, nothing is ever quite that relaxing when I'm doing it with you."

* * *

"Look- see? Aren't they cute?" Garcia said as she turned her foot for Morgan to admire her new shoes. "Go on- tell me they're adorable. I know they're adorable!"

Morgan laughed. "Baby girl, I've never seen you looking anything less than amazing, but I still don't see why you needed another pair of shoes!"  
"Oh, well, here's the deal. These? 30% off! Can you believe it? 30%! I would have paid full price for them, but at 30% off I really couldn't resist! No girl as fabulous as I am has that much willpower!"

"Lemme guess- you saved so much, you had to get two pairs?"

"Actually, at that price, I got three. What? I have two other dresses these will look just as incredi…oh my God!" She froze as the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor. "He's back!" she squealed and took off running as fast as her new platform heels would allow.

Seated at his desk, Spencer could hear her coming as soon as the doors to the BAU opened, but he remained still and braced himself for the inevitable hug he knew he was about to be caught up in. He was nevertheless surprised by the ferocity of her embrace as she threw her arms around him from behind and squeezed him so tightly that he was left quite literally breathless.

"You're back! You're back, you're back, you're really and truly finally back! Eeeee!" Garcia gushed. "Up, up! Turn around and let me see you!"

Spencer stood as he was ordered and turned to her with a smile to return her embrace. "It's good to be back! I've really missed you guys."

"How are you? You look good, but," Garcia said, stepping back a little, "you're not still contagious, are you?"

"No, not at all," he replied. "I'm much, much better now, I promise."

"What was wrong with you?" Garcia pressed. "It must have been something terrible to have kept you away from us for so long, and I was so worried and I really wanted to go visit you, but Hotch got all weird and stern and Hotchy on me and said that what you really needed was some peace and quiet and time to recuperate, but-"

"Does it really matter, Garcia?" Morgan interjected, saving him. "The important thing is, he's here now." Morgan looked at him for a brief moment then pulled him in for a hug. "You had me worried, kid. But look at you- you look great now. Man, you even look like you've been getting some fresh air and sun! You're like a new man!"

"Thanks," Spencer said, running a hand through his hair. "I feel like a new man. Christine and I even got outside for a picnic yesterday." He felt himself blushing at the mention of it and hoped they didn't notice. "Hey," he said, changing the subject and pointing at Garcia's feet. "Did you get new shoes again?"

"Yes, do you like them?" she asked, then turned to Morgan and said, "it's nice to finally have someone around here again who notices a lady."

"Oh, I definitely noticed," Spencer continued. "Where did you get them?"

"Nordstrom's was having a sale this weekend!"

"Oh no, is it over?" Spencer asked.

"No, not yet. I think it ends Wednesday…"

"I'll have to get over there. Alex has had her eye on a pair of blue Ferragamos from their spring collection…"

"Oh my God. Does Christine pay her so much that she can afford shoes like that?"

"She's generous, but Alex also has a birthday coming up at the end of May. Chris said if I buy the shoes, she'll buy her a matching purse."

"Wow," Garcia said with a mock-pout. "You never bought _me_ such a fancy birthday present!"

"Well, if you would like, you can move in with us, too. Then after you've done my laundry, fixed my dinner, cleaned my bathroom and nursed me when I'm sick for a few years, maybe I'll consider it."

"Touché."

"Oh! And she also taught me how to knit!"

"What? Really?" Garcia asked excitedly. "Reid, you have to have her to teach me, too! I've been trying to learn- I bought books and watched YouTube videos and all that I've been able to manage to learn is how to make knots no one can untangle!"

"It's quite simple, really. The trick is-"

"Hold up, ladies," interrupted Morgan. "Looks like Hotch wants us."

"We have a case?" Spencer asked.

"Looks that way," Morgan answered. "You'll have to form your little knitting circle later."

"Don't worry," Spencer said to Garcia as they headed up the stairs to the conference room. "We can totally do that."

* * *

When he came home that night, he found Alex alone with Spud in the parlor, giggling at the TV as she folded laundry. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"Oh, so Judge Judy's got this case where that girl there is suing those two guys for stealing her purse at some party. And it looks like she's got no case, because she can't prove those guys took it, right? But then while she's telling the judge about all the things that were in her purse, like her money and iPod and headphones, one of the guys interrupts her and says, 'Your Honor, there weren't no headphones in that purse!' So Judge Judy just laughed at them and found in her favor!"

Spencer chuckled and shook his head. "If only all criminals were so dense, my job would be much easier! Is Chris around?"

"Yeah, she's out back, trying to start the grill."

Spencer walked through to the back of the house and was stepping out onto the deck just as a fireball shot up from the grill. "Holy shit!" Christine exclaimed as she staggered back a step.

"Baby doll, are you alright? Did you burn yourself?" he asked, reaching out to pull back the hands she'd put up to her face.

"No- at least, I don't think so…do I still have eyebrows?"

"Yes, you maniac. You have eyebrows," he replied, letting go of her hands and returning her smile.

"Bitchin. Then it would seem I used just the right amount of lighter fluid for a change!"

"Maybe it's time your reconsidered using charcoal and switched over to a propane grill instead, dear."

"Bah! Where's the fun in that? Although," she said, "I suppose it might be safe to do so now that the risk of having my tank stolen for the purpose of using it as an intoxicant has been significantly diminished. You know they picked up the huffer again, right?"

"No, I wasn't aware she was even out of jail again. What'd she do this time?"

"She's been charged with destruction of property and possession of bomb making equipment!"

Spencer's mouth fell open. "What?! What happened?"

"Well, she managed to get her hands on one of those little Coleman tanks, the kind people take camping to light their cook stove, you know? And Eddie won't let her huff in the house anymore, so where's a girl to go if she wants to get stoned out of her mind? That's right, she found a car in the parking lot behind the bank downtown. It's doors were unlocked, so she crawled in and made herself at home in the backseat. Eventually, the owner of that vehicle came out, found old Crazy Carrie stoned in her car and called the cops, but by the time they showed up she'd come to and locked herself in. When they looked in the car, the cops could see her cigarettes and her lighter laying right there…"

"Oh, geez…"

"Yeah. Propane fumes and cigarettes inside a small, enclosed space situated on top of a tank of gasoline. Holy fucking shitballs, right? Apparently, after the cops regained control of their bowels, they busted out the windows and tried to pull her out of the car. She kept crawling from the back seat to the front and from the front to the back again. When they did get ahold of her, they pulled her out of the car by her ankles, still holding on to the damned tank of propane. Guess they had a hell of a time trying to wrestle it away from her, too. She didn't give it up until one of the cops finally got sick enough of her shit that he hauled off and punched her. Broke her nose, I heard."

"And where'd you hear all of this?"

"You kidding me? She drew quite a crowd. That was the most excitement Bristow's had in years. Every teller at the bank, the old guys drinking their afternoon coffee at the café…I first heard it from the secretary at the insurance agency. Filled in the blanks by talking to the checker at the grocery store, a cop I ran into, and the police blotter of the local paper."

"Incredible…"

"No kidding. But right now, I've gotta let these coals heat up so…wanna come upstairs and see the present I got you?"

Spencer raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Oh? Why yes, I do think I'd like that- if you're sure we've got enough time…"

Christine laughed. "No, I wasn't talking about _that_ , though I like the way your brilliantly dirty little mind works! Seriously, come upstairs. I've got something for you," she said, taking his hand and leading him inside. "And if, after you've opened your presents you still wanna fool around, well, I suppose I'm game for a quickie…"

When they reached the bedroom, he stopped short and stared at the bags strewn on the bed. "Whoa. Looks like you've been busy today!"

She jumped and belly flopped artlessly on the bed giggling, and rolled over onto her side to smile up at him. "You know me. I generally hate shopping, but when I open the floodgates, there's a deluge! Sit! Sit!"

He sat down near her and reached into the first bag she shoved toward him. He made an unpleasant face and said, "Wow. Hawaiian shirts. What did you do- raid Joe's closet?"

"Hey! My brother only wishes he had shirts that awesome- or that his gut was small enough to fit into those, for that matter," she said, poking Spencer playfully in the belly. "By the way, in the islands, they call those aloha shirts, not Hawaiian shirts. Get it straight. You don't wanna sound too much like a malahini."

"Hmm?"

"A tourist. There's also flip-flops in that bag, there, but remember to call them slippers, mmmkay?"

Spencer sighed and said nothing. Christine sat up and looked at him closely. "Oh, come on!" she said. "You're going to have fun, I promise! I swear, you're the only man I know who would act like an impending vacation to paradise was on the same level as a trip to the gallows."

"A hanging would be over quicker," he mumbled. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said quickly, seeing the look of hurt on her face. "I'm still feeling guilty about taking all this time off. I thought maybe if I got some work done today, I'd be more at ease with the concept," he said, reaching into the bag with the flip-flops, "but I effectively accomplished nothing other than, perhaps, gaining some weight…"

"Oh? What happened today?"

"Well," he said, bending down to try them on, "as soon as everyone got in to work, Hotch called us in to the conference room. I thought we had a case, but in fact JJ and Prentiss had brought in pastries for an impromptu welcome back party-"

"Oh, baby, don't do that!" Christine interrupted. Spencer looked at her quizzically. She pointed at his feet. "Don't ever wear socks with your slippers. Only little old aunties out sweeping the lanai can rock that look. I can't be seen with you like that."

"Dually noted. As I was saying, they brought in pastries, so I couldn't be rude and not eat them even though I'd already had oatmeal with you."

"What'd you have?"

"There were several kinds…"

"Yeah, but what did _you_ have?"

"I had a cherry Danish and a jelly doughnut…"

"What kind of jelly?"

Spencer gave her a look. "Raspberry, what does it-"

"Mmmm, I love raspberry! Those are the best kind, you know!"

"Yeah, it was super, you crazy person… Anyway, as I was saying, after that, they wanted to take me out for lunch, too. I was still pretty full, but it was impossible trying to refuse Morgan _and_ Garcia _and_ Emily when they all ganged up on me…"

"No Jennifer?"

He shook his head. "No, she usually has so much paperwork that she takes lunch at her desk."

"Nine to five jobs totally suck…"

"Especially when they're more like 7:00am to 8:00pm jobs. So, they took me out. We just got burgers and fries, but…well, I guess I was still having some sugar cravings, because I couldn't resist getting a root beer float, too."

"Yummy. And you ate it all, I suppose?"

"It was good, so yes! But then I was really sluggish the rest of the afternoon…"

"I can imagine. I'd have needed a nap, for sure. But then, I've been known to chow down so hard that I eat myself short of breath."

Spencer laughed. "Yeah. I've seen you do that! I've learned that if I want to avoid getting bitten, it's best to keep my fingers far away from you when cupcakes are within arms reach."

"Jerk," she said, poking him again.

"You started it!" he replied as he reached for another bag. "What the…? Oh no. Please tell me you're not serious about this, Christine!" he whined as he peered into the bag.

"Oh, yes I am! You're going to love snorkeling!"

"I am quite sure I will not."

"Just wait. Once you get a look underwater, you won't want to come back up. Besides, I thought you'd prefer having your own mask and snorkel to using the ones they rent out to tourists at Hanauma Bay."

Spencer shot her a look of disgust. "You're kidding. They rent someone a plastic tube to stick in their mouths then…just hand them out again to complete strangers? Disgusting…"

"See? Now doesn't having your very own sound much more appealing now?"

"Only marginally so…"

"Aw, look," she said, digging into the bag herself. "I even got you some reef shoes so that you don't cut the tender, delicate, veal-like flesh of your little feetsies on the reef." She dangled them in front of his eyes. "Ooooh, and look- they're purple!"

"Well, at least there's that…"

"That's the spirit! And I got you some board shorts and a couple of rash guards, too…"

"A couple of what?"

"Rash guards. You know, it's like a shirt you wear at the beach. Ostensibly, they're for surfers so they don't chafe their arms while paddling, but if you're haoles like us, you gotta wear them at the beach all the time. Unless you _really_ wanna do that whole first-time tourist thing where you get horribly sunburned on your first day and spend the rest of your vacation miserable. Besides," she said, "it'll cover your arms so that you don't have to be reminded of what you did to yourself."

Spencer managed a quiet, "Thank you," and avoided making eye contact with her. He hadn't said it, but that _had_ been a concern of his.

She scooted closer and put her chin on his shoulder. After a peck on the cheek she said, "Hey, you! Be happy! We're going on vacation! This is a _good_ thing, a _fun_ thing, and something you totally deserve!"

He turned and smiled at her. Putting his arm around her he said, "Well…I don't know if I deserve it, but you certainly do, for all you've done for me. But you know me- I like routine and predictability. I always experience some kind of trepidation when faced with the new and unusual."

"And I can think of no better way to bid good riddance to the first half of 2007 than to embark upon a new adventure. And believe me, it will be an adventure- I can just feel it!"

Spencer groaned. "Now, you see? You see what you just did there, with your mischievous little grin? That's what worries me. In fact, sometimes, frankly, you terrify me, dear!"

She wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at him. "Well, pbbbbtht! Shows what you know! Besides, I know that deep down somewhere you do like adventure, and you secretly love being terrified. After all, isn't that the whole reason why you do what you do?"

He made a face and wiped little flecks of her spittle off his face. "And people think _I'm_ weird…"


	35. Chapter 35

Emily ran out of her building and hopped in the backseat of the Cadillac behind Garcia and JJ. "Hey, got the top down today! Nice touch! JJ, I don't suppose you have a hair band I could borrow? I wasn't prepared, I-"

"Yeah, sure," she replied, fishing one out of her purse and passing it back to her. "We can't all be as stylish as Penelope!"

"Excuse me," Garcia said as she pulled away from the curb, "but some of us don't just fall out of bed looking as gorgeous as you two! Ponytails don't cut it for me. It takes serious time and effort for me to look this fabulous, and the proper way for a well-coifed lady to protect her hair is with a silk scarf!"

"Or drive with the top up," JJ teased.

"On a glorious day like today? Never!" Garcia proclaimed.

"Hey, um," Emily said, leaning forward to put her arms on the seats in front of her, "do you guys think Gideon will be there?"

Garcia gave a worried look to JJ who said, "Well, I've noticed in the last few days he has been back in is office…"

"Yeah," Emily said, "we've all noticed that, too, but he hasn't said anything to any of us- nothing at all!"

JJ sighed. "He's only spoken with Hotch. So- will he be there? I don't know. I really don't. After what happened with Elle, then to Reid, and now Sarah…if I were him, I don't think I could go on. It's all too much to bear. But…I also know Christine can be very persuasive. She can get Hotch to turn up for anything, and that's after- did anyone tell you how they met?" JJ asked, suddenly laughing.

"You mean, Christine and Reid?" Emily asked.

"No, I mean Christine and Hotch!"

"No, no one's ever told me that story! They seem close, though…"

The other two started laughing. "Oh my God, you have no idea!" Garcia burst out. "See, Christine showed up at the BAU-"

"Garcia!" JJ interrupted. "Let me tell it! You just focus on your driving! So anyway, we were all in the conference room. I was presenting a case, and she just walked right in and threw Reid's phone across the room at him- I guess he'd left it at her place- and we're all sitting there shocked like, 'What the hell? How did he keep her a secret from us?'"

"Wait, he hadn't told you he was dating her?" Emily asked.

"No! And they'd been together for, like, a while at that point- maybe a year or something!" JJ said. "In fact, a bunch of us had started to think he was, you know, gay or something, because Morgan would offer to take him out or set him up with someone and he always said no. One time, we even went on a date-"

"Wait. You mean, you and Reid?" Emily asked.

"Yeah! Gideon gave him some tickets to a football game and he asked me to go with him. The whole time I was like, 'Well…is he gonna make a move or isn't he?'"

"Did you want him to?" Emily pressed.

JJ squirmed a little in her seat. "Well, I…it's so weird talking about it now, but you know, at the time I didn't know he had a girlfriend!"

Emily smiled and leaned farther forward. "That didn't answer my question…"

"Okay, look. You know us. We work ungodly hours, we have almost no time for social lives…he and I, we're practically the same age and, you know, he's a little quirky but he's kinda, well, he's…"

"He's pretty easy on the eyes," Emily finished.

"Yeah, I mean, come on. I have eyes- I notice things! Now, he's like practically my brother and it's completely awkward to think about, but a couple of years ago, sure- I thought he was cute, in a really dorky, high-strung, up-tight sort of way!"

Garcia laughed mischievously. "Oh…oh no. Oh my God! This is good! JJ and Reid!" She giggled gleefully to herself.

"Hey! No- stop it! This is just between us!" JJ said, alarmed. "Just. Us. Understand, Penelope?"

"Sure," Garcia replied slyly, "I'll keep your dirty little secret…as blackmail!"

JJ sighed. "What _ever_. Anyway, he never made a move, never gave me the slightest indication that he was interested at all, so I started to think maybe Morgan was right- Reid must be gay, you know? Then all of a sudden, one day there's this girl standing in the middle of our briefing, giving Reid this phone he left at her place after they had obviously spent the night together, and we're all looking at him like, 'Dude, how did you manage to keep this a secret from us?' But then I look back at her, and she and Hotch are having this staring contest-"

"Oh my God, Em! It was amazing!" Garcia chimed in. "He was giving her that look, that Angry Hotch look that makes the rest of us feel like we're gonna wet our pants-"

"Yeah, or throw up!" JJ continued. "And- well, you know how tiny she is. She's like, what, 5'1", 5'2"? And she never wears heels…"

"Yeah, why is that?" Garcia asked. "Because I've poked around in her tax returns-"

"Garcia!" both of the other ladies scolded.

"What? I'm nosy- you know that! And she made more last year than our entire team combined. If _I_ had money like that, I'd wear something better than sneakers or flip-flops all the time."

"Garcia, do you even own a single pair of sneakers?" Emily asked.

"Yes! I have three, if you must know! One with sequins, one with crystals, and another that I bought because they're silver with pink stripes that I thought would make me look both totally fierce and completely adorable at the gym!"

"They're still in the box, aren't they?" Emily asked.

"God, I hate profilers!"

JJ laughed and continued, "So Hotch is staring at Christine, and she just stands there, looking right back at him. It was amazing, seeing that tiny little woman stare down Hotch. And then she says," JJ said, as she began laughing harder, "she says, 'Hey, do you ever get uncomfortable standing there with that steel rod shoved up your butt?'"

"No!" Emily practically shouted.

"She did! She did! She _totally_ said that!" Garcia affirmed.

"I swear, Emily, when she said that, you could actually hear everyone's jaws hit the floor. I thought Hotch's head was going to explode! Needless to say, he _hated_ her when they first met. I've even heard him tell Gideon that"

"Okay- wait. So then, what happened? What changed?" Emily asked. "Because every time I've seen them together, they're…they're joking together!"

"I'm not really sure," JJ said. "You heard about the Fisher King case, right? Well, we had to bring Christine, Alex, Haley, even Reid's mom into protective custody because Garner knew where everyone lived…"

"And Spud!" Garcia said.

"Who?" Emily asked.

"Spud," JJ said, rolling her eyes. "You know, Alex's cat?"

"They brought the cat with, too?"

"Yeah, they did. Anyway," JJ continued, "Haley met Christine and it turns out she's a fan, I guess. So maybe that's why she and Hotch get along, because Haley got him listening to her comedy albums or something. I've seen her CDs on his desk before, so I guess he likes her, even though he skipped it the one time we all got to go see her perform…"

"Hey, yeah, so I was wondering- is she any good?" Emily asked. "I mean, is her show actually worth it? Because I saw she was performing in town in July and I thought about getting tickets, but with our work, we just never know when we're going to be able to go out!"

"Okay," Garcia said. "First off, yes- she's hilarious, and you should definitely go. Secondly, be prepared to learn things about Reid that you never really wanted to know, like he wears pretty underwear, and they used to do it on Star Wars bedsheets at his place and…and what else?"

"He plays with dolls," JJ said. "Oh! And they got kicked out of a hotel for making a mess when they did it in a hot tub!"

"Yeah! But no- they didn't get kicked out, she's just too ashamed to ever go back. That's it. But the dolls! I forgot about the dolls!" Garcia giggled, then saw Emily's face in the mirror and quickly added, "Not, like, sex dolls! She was talking about his collection of action figures and how she didn't want them watching while they got busy!"

"So yeah, you should totally go if you can, Em, but don't buy a ticket. Just tell Reid, and he'll have her brother hook you up with tickets for free. Seriously- don't pay. She'll actually probably get mad if you try to pay."

"Ooh, and back to Hotch," Garcia said, pointing ahead of them, "isn't that them now?"

"Wait…yeah, I think it is!" JJ replied. "Do they see us? Honk or something!"

"No, we're already here, and I've got a better idea…" They followed the Hotchners as they turned and made their way up the long driveway to Christine's house. When the car in front of them stopped to park, Garcia inched slowly up behind them until her bumper made the slightest contact with the other car's.

"Garcia!" both women nearly screamed as they saw their boss immediately jump out of his car and stare at them furiously.

"Garcia, are you out of your mind?" Hotch fumed. "Have you been drinking already? We just bought this car a month ago," he scolded, as he crouched down to inspect the non-existent damage and run his hand lovingly over his own bumper.

"Sorry! It was a joke, Hotch!" Garcia pleaded. "That's all! See- there's nothing wrong- is there?"

"It wasn't funny, Garcia- it was reckless. What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?" Hotch continued.

"Aaron!" Haley said sharply as the unbuckled Jack in the back seat. "Calm down. I'm sure it's fine. They were just having a little fun. Try not to-" She stopped mid-sentence and stared ahead.

At that moment, Christine and Alex came running around the corner of the house, red-faced, dripping wet and spattered with mud. They tore past the others until Christine cried, "Here!" and dove behind some bushes that stood before the veranda with Alex following her. The others walked over to wear they'd taken cover, and JJ asked, "What on earth are you two doing?"

"I swear to God," Christine hissed in a whisper, "if any of you bitches tell them where we are, I will gut you with a rusty butter knife!"

"Ew!" Alex whined. "There's bugs back here!"

"Zip it, or I'll zip it for you!" Christine whispered back.

Seconds later, Spencer and Morgan came running, carrying large water guns in their arms. "Where are they?" Spencer asked, soaking wet and panting. "Did they come through here?"

"Uh, who? I mean, what are you talking about?" Garcia asked, trying to play it cool and failing miserably.

"Don't play dumb with us, Garcia. Not now," Morgan warned. "Those two hellions just ambushed us!"

Reid chimed in, "It was a vicious, completely unprovoked atta-"

"AH HA!" Christine cried, jumping up from behind the bushes, brandishing a garden hose. "Drop your weapons and reach for the sky, motherfuckers!"

Reid and Morgan reluctantly placed their water guns on the ground and raised their arms. "You know, we never actually say, 'Reach for the sky,' dear," Spencer corrected.

"WHEN I WANNA HEAR YOU TELL ME SOMETHING, I'LL BEAT IT OUT OF YOU, YOU SNEAKY, SCRAWNY SONUVABITCH!"

"Yeah, she'll beat it out of you!" Alex cried.

"What the hell is going on here?" Emily asked.

"On your knees, maggots!" Christine ordered. When they glanced at one another, she screamed, " _I said your knees!_ "

"Alright! Alright! Just don't do anything crazy, Chris," Morgan warned.

"I waved goodbye to crazy in the rearview mirror years ago- and you wouldn't even be in this position if your buddy there hadn't fired the first shot!"

"Hey," Spencer said, chuckling, "you're the one who's always encouraging me to practice my aim!"

"YOU SHOT ME IN THE ASS!"

"I couldn't help it! It was such a big, beautiful, tempting target!"

"Goddammit, Reid! Shut up!" Morgan groaned.

"Well, she didn't have to shove me into the pool! That was an unnecessary escalation!"

"Hear that, Alex?" Christine asked. "He told me I had a big ass! What do you say we do now?"

"Show no mercy, boss!"

"Hotch- save us!" Spencer pleaded.

"I don't think so," he said, taking a few steps back. "For a smart guy, that was a pretty stupid thing to do and say, Reid!"

"That's it! Prepare to drown like the rats you are!" Christine shouted before turning the hose on them.

As the two men screamed and waved their arms to ward off the icy blast, Morgan struggled to his feet and charged at Christine blindly. When he caught her, he lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of laundry.

Christine kicked and beat his back with her fists as he ran back around the side of the house with her. "Put me down you testosterone soaked oaf!"

"You messed with the wrong man this time, you little ginger psychopath!" Morgan yelled back at her.

"What the hell was that about?" JJ asked after they had disappeared. "What's he gonna do with her?"

Just then they heard Christine let out a blood-curdling sheik followed by a tremendous splash. Spencer stood up. "He just threw her in the pool," he said with a smile. "Alex, you'd better go calm her down before she launches World War III." As Alex ran off, they heard Christine surface and begin to shriek at Morgan before growing quiet, presumably as Alex got her boss' temper under control. Picking up the discarded toy weapons, Spencer smiled and explained, "Morgan got here a little early to help with a few things this morning, and while he and I were setting up the tables the girls thought they'd be clever and throw water balloons at us. The situation kind of spun out of control after that…anyway, thanks for coming! Sorry if anyone got sprayed accidentally. Please, come around back with us- I think lunch is almost ready."

When they got to the back of the house, they found Christine drying her hair and muttering dire threats at Morgan while a number of other guests sat around, bemused. Seeing them, she handed the towel to Alex and said, "I suppose I owe everyone a proper welcome! So thanks for coming. Everybody, these are Spencer's colleagues; guys, I think you know some of these people. That's Diana's husband, Stephen there…most of you know my brother Joe and his wife Laurie, who is way, way too good for him…this is my dear friend and hair stylist extraordinaire, Carolyn, who is responsible for talking me down from the ledge after I went bald back in the day, and her husband, Jim. Diana I think is in the library with Jason or something…"

"Solarium," Spencer corrected.

"Oh, they moved?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"That's cool. My other brother and his brood are on the way. Grant was here, but then we sent him out to get more ice for the beer. On that note, make yourselves at home and help yourself. The hard stuff and the blender are in the house," she added, taking a sip from her own glass.

While the other's sat and chatted, Garcia and JJ approached her by the grill. "We'll have whatever you're having," Garcia said with a grin.

Christine raised an eyebrow. "Really? Alright…two unsweetened iced teas, coming up!"

They exchanged glances and Garcia began to babble breathlessly, "Oh my god. Okay. We thought this might be why you asked us all here. So…tell us…how are you feeling?"

"Me?" Christine asked. "I just got back from Hawai'i and I didn't get sunburned. I'm feeling fan-fucking-tastic!"

"Really?" JJ asked. "You're not…tired or sick or…"

"Well, it's a five hour time difference between here and Hawai'i, so I'm a little jet lagged, but I'll get over it." Christine looked at them curiously and took another sip. "The fuck are you two getting at?"

"It's just, you know, you're not, like, drinking-drinking, and you insisted we all be here like you had something to tell us," Garcia said, "and, you know, we were- I mean, JJ and I- we were just talking this morning that it seemed like you, you know…had an announcement to make. Like…maybe that we're gonna be hearing the sweet pitter-pat of little genius feet soon…"

Christine started coughing, choking on the tea she had been sipping. After being patted on the back by the two women, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and said, "Are you both out of your goddamned minds? Jesus! What the hell is wrong with the both of you? You know what I think? I think you two need to worry more about what's getting shoved up your own hoo-has, and then maybe you'll find less time to think about what might be coming out of mine- which, by the way, is nothing!"

Garcia gave her a horrified look. "Oh, now you're just deliberately trying to be disgusting!"

"Hey, sister- you're the one who started it! Me, pregnant. Ha!" she said. "That'll be the day!"

JJ smiled. "Oh, come on. You gotta admit- the babies you two would make would be adorable!"

"And brilliant!" Garcia chimed in. "And probably red heads!"

"Alright. First of all, no. I gotta admit nothing. Second of all, any child he and I made would be would be a hyper, mouthy, obnoxious little know-it-all and probably legally blind by the time he's school aged. That ain't adorable at all. Besides which, I don't want kids and I don't think I'll ever want kids. They're basically really expensive, time-consuming booger factories. I've got too many things going on in my life right now and I can only handle so much. So drop it. Seriously." She turned at the sound of a truck. "Y'all go on over and help Grant bring up those bags of ice. I've got chicken to finish burning here."

They turned to go do as they'd been ordered as Christine muttered under her breath. After a short while, they'd all seated themselves at the tables and began helping themselves to the food. It wasn't long before someone called out, "So hey guys- how was Hawai'i?"

Spencer and Christine exchanged smiles and glances before he answered back, "It was beautiful! Spectacular! There really is a reason people think it's paradise!"

"Yeah," Christine said, "It was an amazing trip- not that it started out that way, though…"

Spencer nodded and laughed. "No, it certainly did not!"

"Uh-oh," Joe said, "what'd she do this time? Take a swing at a TSA agent?"

"No," Spencer replied, "through she came pretty close to getting into fistfights with a couple of gate agents- and me, for that matter…"

"Hey, now," Christine retorted. "I was pretty sure that at one point, you were gonna start throwing punches at me!"

"Don't worry, Chris," Morgan called. "If he ever tries that, it wouldn't even hurt!"

"Ha ha ha," Spencer said sarcastically.

"Anyway, we were originally booked on about a six hour flight to Phoenix, an hour lay-over, and then on to Honolulu," Christine said. "And since Captain Fantastic over here had booked seats in coach the whole way, I cashed in a shitload of my frequent flier miles and got us bumped up to first class the whole way. So it should have been glorious. Actually, I was so totally looking forward to this that I'd been mentally preparing all week to look down my nose at the poor, unfortunate slobs stuck back in coach. So we got to the aiport by 8:00am for our 10:05 departure, and after paying an ungodly amount to check our luggage and getting groped by the TSA agent who, apparently, was quite eager to find out whether or not Spencer's testicles were the same size-"

"Thanks for sharing, Chris," Spencer said.

"Yeah, and they didn't even buy you dinner. It was criminal! Honestly, what did they think you were hiding down there? Anyway," she continued, "we bought a couple of wildly overpriced cups of coffee and settled down by the gate, only to learn, about 40 minutes before our scheduled departure, that we're delayed due to mechanical difficulties, which is always reassuring. Incidentally, this was an American Airlines flight, which he knows I hate. I have no problems with United, Delta, Northwest…hell, I don't even mind riding Southwest's flying cattle cars 'cause at least their flight attendants have got sass. But I ain't got no love for American. Couple of hours go by, and we had to scramble because we're gonna miss our connecting, and finally they cancelled the flight, which was just fucking dandy. So then we had to scramble some more and somehow we wound up with this flight to Seattle-Tacoma, then SeaTac to San Francisco, and then, finally, to Honolulu. Now, on the surface, it didn't sound that bad, because the flight from SeaTac to San Fran was short and honestly, I kinda like San Fran because they've got some good food at their airport. But I was wrong. First of all, we got the only two seats left on that flight to SeaTac, an aisle and a middle, and Spencer refused to be a gentleman and give me his aisle seat…"

"Gentleman?" Spencer exclaimed, "What does _that_ have to do with anything? Have you noticed the difference in the length of our legs, dear? In case you've never noticed, I'm nearly a foot taller than you!"

"Only 10 and a half inches! You're always trying to brag about having more inches than you actually do and I'm done falling for it!" she shot back amidst a round of laughter. "Anyway, you know I have a bladder the size of a peanut and need to get up periodically!"

"Incidentally," Spencer said to the others there, "this was the point at which she and I almost came to blows, because we were both tired and irritated and when I refused to switch with her, she started making a scene going, 'Oh, you think you deserve the aisle because you're such a big man, huh? Come at me, bro! Come at me!'"

"In my defense," Christine said, "this took place at about 4:30pm. We'd been waiting for over eight hours to get on a plane, and we were both tired, irritable, hungry and frustrated by this point. Nevertheless, I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"Yes, and I'm sorry I told you that you were behaving like a rabid weasel in front of the other passengers."

"Apology accepted," Christine said. "But that wasn't the worst part of that flight. Oh no. Because those seats just happened to be right in the middle of the entire UW cheerleading squad which had apparently just won some sort of competition. And the bimbos in front of us would not stop hanging over their seats to talk to the idiots seated behind us the whole damned time. So we had to listen to who was sleeping with whom and who on the squad has herpes and who has an eating disorder and who gave whom the clap and on and on and on for _six hours_! I swear to God, I was ready to choke a bitch by the end of that flight! And he knew it, too, because once we got to Seattle, the first thing he said to me was, 'Let me buy you a drink,' presumably to calm me the fuck down."

"You presume correctly," Spencer said, "although you completely took advantage of the situation by using it as an excuse to toss back some rather expensive top shelf bourbon."

"Hey, who am I to turn down an open bar?" Christine replied. "Anyway, the next plane was delayed due to mechanical issues, too. And, as a side note, notice I said 'plane' and not 'jet', which was deliberate. This time, we only had to wait an extra 20 minutes to get off the ground, which I'm guessing is how long it took for some guy to run out and wind up the rubber bands they were using to turn the propellers."

"This time," Spencer continued, "after I poured her into her window seat- without objection, this time-"

"I felt like I needed to keep an eye on those engines to see if one of them burst into flames!"

Spencer rolled his eyes at her, "after we took our seats and reached cruising altitude, we started to experience severe turbulence."

"Ha!" Joe burst out. "In a twin prop? Awesome!"

"It was more awesome than you could ever imagine, Joseph," Christine said. "So, the captain came on over the PA and says, 'Uh, folks, I'm going to need to ask you all to return to your seats and prepare for the possibility of an emergency landing,' but it had been one of those days and I'd been drinking so I was just like, 'Take 'er down, Chief!' I was ready to end it all right there. But the guy across the aisle from Spencer started losing his mind!"

"Yeah!" Spencer said. "He leaned over and started asking me, 'Hey man, what's that mean? What's that mean? Where's he gonna try and land?' And while I was trying to come up with something reassuring to say, Christine leaned over and said, 'It means we're gonna be landing about a half hour from where the soon-to-be traumatized paramedics are gonna find the pieces of our dismembered bodies!' So I was like, 'Would you just shut up for once- you are _not_ helping matters!' Then this other gentleman started to hyperventilate, so I got up out of my seat to try and help him only to get screamed at by the flight attendants while Chris just sat there laughing her red head off…"

"Well, the important thing to take away from this story is that we did _not_ die. We did make it to San Francisco- barely," Christine said.

"Yes, barely," Spencer agreed. "The delay on that second flight meant we only had a few minutes to run from one end of the terminal to the other. They were paging our names on the intercom, telling us the doors were closing…"

"Well, yeah," Prentiss said. "That makes sense, if you checked your luggage through. After 9/11 they can't take off until everyone who's checked luggage is on board."

"Of course," Christine agreed, "but it still doesn't help when you're running and you've got short legs like me or run like a girl like him…"

"Hey!" Spencer said.

"Come on, kid," Morgan laughed. "We've all seen that run."

"Right? You know how it goes," Christine continued. "So, we finally got on an actual jet, one that departed on time, bound for Honolulu and at this point it's, like, after midnight. Fortunately for us, we at least got seated in an exit row and he let me have the aisle. Unfortunately, there was a family traveling with a whole flock of kids. I think they had about five. Now, I know their rationale for taking that flight was probably something along the lines of, 'Well, if we leave late enough, they'll all just sleep the whole way there. But they were wrong. They had this one little girl about three years old, who was just cute as a button and acting like they had fed her nothing but pixie stix and Mountain Dew for days because she ran up and down and up and down the aisles for hours, to the point that I wanted to just hug her tightly with my two hands around her adorable little neck, know what I mean? At one point, Spencer had to lean over and whisper in my ear, 'Get your foot back right now- don't you dare trip that baby in the aisle!' Which is further proof that I should never be a mother, because at the time, it seemed like a brilliant plan…"

"Remind me never to let her babysit," Laurie told Joe.

"Wise decision," Christine conceded. "But the urchin totally redeemed herself at the end of the flight. Right after the pilot said, 'Ladies and gentlemen, we're now beginning our final descent to Honolulu International Airport,' this little thing yelled, 'Yay!' Now, I've got nieces and nephews, so I kinda know how this shit goes- and Haley can back me up on this- when you're trying to get clothes _on_ a toddler, it's like trying to wrestle an octopus, right? But when they wanna get _out_ of their clothes, they're faster than…well…than Spencer when he's horney."

"Chris!" Spencer cried, turning red.

"Aw, geez," Wes moaned, "my kids are here!"

"I'm just saying! So this little thing yells, 'Yay!' And instinctively I turn and in a flash she strips down and streaks down the aisle, butt-ass nekkid, waving a swimsuit over her yelling, 'Yay! I go beach now! I go beach!' It was incredible, and I was like, 'Now _there's_ a kid who's got it together! You go, girl!' because that was exactly what I wanted to do- I wanted Chris go beach. But thanks to Spencer, I could not."

"Me? What did I do?"

"Oh, you know exactly what you did! You- he bought this really nice luggage just for this trip, and I told him, 'Don't put that lock on it!' And he was all, 'Well, but I want my things to be safe and this one says that the TSA agents have master keys so if they x-ray it and find anything they feel they need to inspect closer, they can unlock it safely and blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. Pbbbtht!' But I told him, 'No, when those mofos see a lock on your luggage, they see it as a challenge and then they use it as an excuse to fuck with you!' And I was right, because, uh, you wanna tell everyone what your brand new $400 suitcase looked like when we got it?"

Spencer pressed his lips together for a moment, then grudgingly admitted, "It was missing the zipper."

"Do y'all understand that? Do you get what happened there? It wasn't just that the lock was broken, or that the zipper was busted. No. They tore the entire zipper off. They tore it off. _They tore it the fuck off_. The entire zipper. And then they wrapped the whole thing up with yellow security tape and tossed it down the chute to baggage claim like we wouldn't fuckin' notice. And for what? What were you trying to protect, Sparky- your clothes? That's all that was in there. I don't know what you were trying to hide. Spoiler alert- Spencer's got really colorful underwear. There- your secret is out. Actually, the entire world probably knows it now because somewhere there is a baggage handler living in his mother's basement that's keeping a blog where he's posted pictures of all your pretty panties because you just couldn't accept that I might be right, could you?"

Spencer sighed. "But according to TSA literature, I was in compliance-"

"But you of all people should understand the difference between rules and freaky human nature, am I right?" Christine fired back. "So anyway, we had to hang out at the service counter filing a claim on his damage luggage for over an hour, and then we went to get our rental car, which we weren't able to get because we didn't pick it up the day before when we had reserved it and there were none left. So at that point, we just said, 'Fuck it,' caught a cab to the hotel and figured we'd get a car later."

"Where'd you stay?" Joe asked.

"The Moana Surf Rider," Spencer replied.

"Ooh, nice place!" Laurie chimed in. "You've got good taste."

"Yes, he does," Christine continued. "I'll definitely give him that. However, when we got there, the sweet little tropical flower behind the counter informed us, 'Oh, we're terribly sorry, but the room you requested is no longer available!'"

"No way!" Garcia exclaimed. "They gave your _room_ away, too?"

"Yes," Christine said, "however, I think she could tell by the vein standing out on my forehead that I was about to have an aneurism, because she tapped away and told us, 'Well, we don't have any more rooms for that price, so we're going to go ahead and put you in a suite for the same price, and we'll give you $100 credit on room service. Is an ocean view okay?'"

"Oh, thank God!" Emily cried. "You finally caught a break."

"Honestly," Christine said, "at that point I thought Spencer was going to cry- I really did."

"She's right," he said. "I almost did."

"He just put his arms on the counter and put his head down on them saying, 'Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you…"

"That's actually 100% true," Spencer agreed. "It was the first thing that had gone right for us."

"Yeah. And she told us they were still serving free breakfast in the dining room, but we just couldn't wait to get to our room. And lemme tell you, it was stunning. Absolutely a beautiful room, with a breathtaking view, incredibly romantic, and as soon we got up there we immediately jumped in bed and…passed out. Like, we were both snoring within minutes."

"Aw, come on, kid!" Morgan said, laughing. "I thought you had better game than that!"

"To be honest," Reid laughed, "I thought I did, too!"

"Wait for it," Christine continued. "Because eventually, I wake up, because I feel his hands moving up and down my leg…"

" _That's_ what I'm talking about!" Morgan cried.

"Hey now," Wes warned, "this is my sister, here…"

"Yeah, but I feel his hands on my leg and I get a little pissed, you know? I'm like, 'You gotta be kidding me! After all that, this motherfucker still wants to screw?"

" _Christine Marie_!" Wes shouted. "Language!"

"So I turn my head," she continued, ignoring him, "and I see his face and- now, I think I've mentioned this before, but some of you don't know- Spencer's got this thing. When he's super tired and super stressed, he starts to talk in his sleep! So I look at his face and I realize his eyes are closed. And then he says, 'Morgan!'- by the way, I find it mildly disturbing in a bi-curious sort of way how often he dreams about you, Derek, when he's in bed with me, but whatever- he says, 'Morgan! Morgan! Come here! I think I found a leg!' He feels me up a little more and then he gasps and says, 'Oh no! I…I…I think I found Christine's leg!'"

"Hey, at least he knew it was yours!" JJ said.

"Right? So he gets major points for that! So then I say, 'Spencer, sweetheart, that _is_ my leg, because you're not at work right now! You're on vacation and you're asleep, so lay down now, okay?' And he just goes, 'Oh. Oh. Okay. That's good. That's very good.' And he flopped right back down and went to sleep."

"A few hours after that, she started poking me, saying, 'Get up! Get up! Get up! We're on vacation! You're not going to sleep the whole day away, are you, slacker?" His team members laughed at the idea that Reid, of all people, would be called a slacker. Spencer looked at Christine and said, "You hear that? They're on my side! But," he said, turning back to the others, "she insisted I come out on to the lanai and enjoy the view, which I will concede was nothing short of stunning, although- and I think Chris will agree with me on this- if I had it to do all over again, I would have asked for a mountain view, which was slightly more breathtaking than the ocean view."

"For sunrises, yes. But the sunsets on Waikiki Beach are pretty spectacular!" Christine said.

"Yes, and that was something that was actually quite a shock to me that first evening, when we did finally go to the beach at sunset. I would have assumed that as the sun went down, everyone would leave the beach. But on Waikiki, the air stays so warm, and they light the beach so well, that there were still people in the water after sunset, which I found rather surprising. The other thing I found remarkable was how warm the water was. Of course, I knew in theory what the average water temperatures were, but to actually go and stand in it and feel that it was like bathwater was another pleasant surprise."

"Oh, Aaron!" Haley cooed, "Let's go sometime!"

Hotch smiled. "Maybe in a few years, when Jack's a little older…"

"Oh, please tell us nothing else weird happened to you for the rest of your trip!" Garcia said.

"Pardon me," Spencer replied with a laugh, "have you met Christine yet? Weird follows her wherever she goes!"

Emily laughed and asked, "Well, did you get to visit any other beaches, or did you stay in Waikiki the whole time?"

"Oh, no, we made it a point to visit as many beaches as possible," Christine said.

"Yes," Spencer agreed with a smile. "Kailua was particularly memorable…"

"Oh really? Oh really?" Christine exclaimed. "You seriously wanna go there? Alright. Fine. Then I'll tell everyone about how you got knocked down by a wave at Sandy's!"

Joe drew a sharp breath. "Aw, man! Don't tell me you broke the number one rule of the ocean?"

"What's the number one rule of the ocean?" Haley asked.

"Never turn your back on it," Joe replied, "and Sandy's is brutal because there's this wicked steep shore break not far off the beach. It makes waves that seem small suddenly jump up on top of you. I mean, people get picked up and dropped on their heads by those fuckers and killed. Didn't you read a guidebook, man?"

"He did," Christine said, "but that didn't stop him from turning around after surviving one wave to look at me on the beach only to get creamed from behind by another. Washed him right up on the beach like a pale, skinny whale, all flopping around and spitting out sand…"

"It wasn't that bad," Spencer pouted.

"Are you kidding me? I had to tell you to get up because the lifeguards were coming down outta their towers. They thought you were drowned or something. I was like, 'No, he's not dead, he's just a damned tourist…'"

Spencer gave her a look of annoyance then turned back to the others, "So anyway, we went to Kailua-"

"Of course, we had to stop half-way there after visiting Sandy's because this guy," Christine said, hooking her thumb at Spencer, "had to dig several handfuls of sand outta his swim suit. On the side of the road. While people watched."

"It was incredibly uncomfortable," he said, unperturbed. "So we got to Kailua and it was Sunday, so it was packed…"

"With jarheads, yeah?" Joe interjected. "There's a Marine Corps Base right there, isn't there?"

"Yes," Wesley replied. "Kaneohe Bay MCB is real close."

"And that's exactly who was there," Spencer said. "There were sunbathing Marines everywhere. This time, she rushed out into the water first, and I watched her from the beach for a little while before I turned to lay down our beach towels. While my back was turned, I suddenly heard this tremendous cheer go up from all the men on the beach, so I turned around to see what was going on. At first, I couldn't see Christine at all, but then I noticed her a few hundred yards out- but she was only visible from the nose up. She waved to me to come out to her, so I waded out. I actually thought the water must be quite deep, but when I reached her I realized it was only up to my waist and she was crouching down in the water. Then she told me, 'Quick, get down!' and I asked, 'Why? What's going on?' Then she said, 'I need you to retie my bikini top for me!'"

"Oh, Chris," Carolyn moaned, "oh, no no no no no!"

"Now, Carolyn, you caught on faster than I did!" Spencer laughed as Christine hid her face in her hands. "I said, 'Why retie it? It looks fine!' And she said, 'It most certainly is _not_ fine! It needs to be tighter!' So I asked, 'Why?' That's when she explained that she, too, had turned her back on the ocean and had gotten hit by a wave that lifted it up!"

"Oh my God!" JJ exclaimed. "So you flashed an entire beach full of Marines?!"

"She did," Spencer said, "and the only man who missed it was me!"

"Damn," Morgan laughed. "I'm sorry I missed that, too!"

"Careful," Spencer warned him with a smile. "She refused to come back out of the water for a while, but when I got back to the beach, the men were asking me, 'Hey, is that your girlfriend?' When I told them she was, they all congratulated me and gave me thumbs-up. But when she finally came up, they stood up and applauded. Then she marched over and said, 'We are leaving. _Now_!'"

"Yeah," Christine said finally, "and then this guy suddenly gets it into his head that _he's_ the comedian in this relationship. He's all like, 'What? We can't leave now! You've just made a lot of new fans! I think they're all waiting for autographs and pictures with you!'"

"It was pretty funny, dear," Spencer said.

"Not to me, it wasn't!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Chris," Wesley moaned, "did the two of you do anything that didn't involve bringing shame upon our family?"

"Well, we went up to Waimea Bay and saw some sea turtles," she said. "Then we went across the highway to the Audubon Center for a picnic, and Spencer learned the hard way why you don't feed the peacocks Pringles…"

"I don't care how beautiful they look, they are evil, cold-hearted, vicious creatures!" Spencer cried.

"What he meant to say is that he learned that when you entice them to come closer by offering them potato chips, they feel emboldened enough to snatch your turkey sandwich right out of your hands as you're eating it!" Christine explained.

"Not hers, mind you," Spencer complained. "Only mine. And after they took it from me, she refused to share any of her lunch with me!"

"Hey, that was your own damned fault. I told you not to feed them. One of these days you'll learn to listen to me."

Spencer glared at her for a moment then continued, "We also visited the Hawaiian Cultural Center and attended their luau. And of course we visited the Aquarium and the Zoo-"

"Oooh! We saw the gharials! I _love_ those! We also got to see a couple of tortoises humping which was not nearly as hot as you might think it is…"

"You're right," Laurie said, "that doesn't sound sexy at all!"

"Oh, I don't know, sweetie," Joe chimed in, rubbing his wife's swollen, pregnant belly, "it sounds a lot like how we've been doing it lately!" He laughed at the thought of it until he was frozen by his wife's icy glare.

"Wow," Spencer said, breaking the sudden silence, "and people say _I_ have a bad habit of making conversations awkward! Anyway, went snorkeling at Hanauma Bay, which was far more interesting than I had imagined it would be. It reminded me of the feeling I had the first time I visited the Grand Canyon- all the photographs in the world cannot prepare you for how absolutely breathtakingly beautiful it is under the water!"

"Ooh, did you see that fish, that one with the really long name?" Garcia asked.

"Do you mean the state fish, the humuhumunukunukuapua'a? It's a large parrot fish, and yes, we saw several nibbling the coral all around us!" he replied. "We also saw the Arizona Memorial, visited the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific in Punchbowl Crater…"

"Speaking of craters, we also climbed to the top of Diamond Head, where Spencer _again_ suffered for failing to take my advice!" Christine said gleefully.

Spencer rested his chin on his hand, rolled his eyes and sighed, "Here we go again…"

"I told you not to take that stupid hat! But would you listen to me? Nooooo! 'You'll be sorry when you're sunburned and I'm not,' you said. 'You're gonna wish you had a hat, too,' you said. Well, pbbbbth!" Christine said, sticking her tongue out at him. "See, the whole time you're climbing Diamond Head, the trail is on the inside of the crater so the air is very still, but at the very end you have to go up these stairs through this little tunnel and when you come out, you're standing at the very peak of the mountain, and the second Sparky came out, whoosh! A gust of wind blew his hat clean of his head and it was lost forever. Ha! It was a good thing, too. I hated that hat!"

"I loved that hat!" he retorted.

"It was hideous," she complained. "It made you look like the Man in the Yellow Hat from Curious George, some big, goofy haole who's gone out monkey poaching or something. Is everyone finished eating? Alex, help me clear these dishes, sweet pea, and serve the pies, wouldja?"

As the two women rose to clear away the dishes, they were followed by JJ, Emily and Garcia into the kitchen.

"I did _not_ look like the Man in the Yellow Hat," Spencer insisted to those who remained at the table. "It was a good hat! Besides, I spent a lot of money on that hat! She shouldn't be so joyful over my losing it!"

"The first rule of a successful relationship, Spencer, is learning to obey your woman unquestioningly," Wesley said.

"That's a rule you still haven't mastered," Jenny said.

"None of them have," Haley added in agreement.

As the ladies brought out the slices of pie and passed them around, Joe asked, "So, was that it? Didn't you make it to any other beaches?"

"Well yeah, we made it to as many as we could," Christine said, exchanging a quick glance with Spencer as she sat. "But we saved my favorite for last. On our last full day there, we went to Makapu'u to see the sunrise-"

"Yes, and she didn't tell me the night before that were going there to see the sunrise. She just jumped on me in bed at about 5:00am saying, 'You gotta get up! 'You gotta get up! We're gonna miss the sunrise!'"

"Of course, it took us inordinately long to get on the road because he couldn't leave without stopping for coffee first. But we made it in time- it's a beautiful beach, if you ever get the chance. It's right off the Kamehameha Highway on the windward side of the island. It's easy to miss if you don't know it's there, because the beach is at the foot of a sheer cliff so you can't see it from the road. So we got there just before sunup and we sat ourselves down- him still clutching his coffee as if his life depended upon it- and he started whining, 'Why did we have to get up so early? Why did we have to come all the way here?' and I told him, 'Just zip it, Skippy, and watch,' because the most amazing thing happens when the sun rises- the waves are big there and when the sun comes up right behind them, it shines orange clear through them. You've never seen anything like it in your life…"

"It really was stunning," Spencer agreed.

Christine paused and looked at him for a moment. "And that's when I told him, 'You know, I know that I told you once that I thought marriage was the worst thing a woman could ever do with her life, but I've gotta say, when you were kidnapped, I had to imagine what my life would be like in the very real event that you never came home. And I realized that if the worst had happened, I would be forced to live out the rest of my days with that one regret- the regret to end all regrets- that you'd have left this life never knowing how much I loved you.'"

"Whoa! Wait! What?" Garcia cried. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"That was pretty much his reaction," Christine said. "And I said, 'Yeah. Remember how that one time you told me if I ever changed my mind about marriage, you'd marry me? Well, I've changed my mind.' And he said, 'No.'"

"WHAT?!" shouted a chorus of voices.

"And that was pretty much my reaction. I was like, 'What do you mean, "no"?' And he said, 'You know, if I had proposed to you, I would have brought you flowers, taken you out to dinner, got down on one knee and said something more profound than, "I've changed my mind." You're going to have to try harder than that!' Now, it's worth mentioning that by this point some surfers had started showing up and I think they knew we were having a moment. If they didn't, they definitely figured it out when I got down on one knee and asked him."

"You did not!" Garcia exclaimed. "Did you?"

"Of course she did," Diana said, as she shifted Alice from one arm to the other. "Didn't you know she loves to make a scene?"

"Of course I did," agreed Christine. "And as I knelt there, hand on heart, he said, 'Well, you should have at least offered me a better token of your love than a cup of coffee…'"

"Spence!" JJ scolded.

"Thank you!" Christine said. "I was like, 'I'm offering you my heart for the rest of my goddamned life- the fuck more do you want from me?' Luckily for him, before he said some other wise-ass thing I woulda made him regret, the surfers started in on him going, 'Come on man! Say yes! Look at her- she loves you!' Of course, my face was red and my hands were shaking because I was getting so angry, but luckily for him he totally caved to the pressure and said yes. So…I guess that's it. That's why we asked you all to come out here."

"So this was all really an engagement party?" Emily said. "Reid…Chris- congratulations!"

"Well, if I'd had my way it'd be a wedding reception after the fact," Christine said. "I wanted to go to the courthouse and get it all over and done with while I still had the nerve, but groomzilla over here said no to that, telling me some ridiculous shit about how he wanted to celebrate with all our friends and family with flowers and cake and blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. So I said fine, if you plan it, whatever. I suppose I can be bothered to show up. So the fool that he is, he thinks he'll be able to pull it all off. I'm not holding my breath nor expecting much. So I figured that after bribing y'all with some free food and drink you might be inclined to help us- or him, anyway- out with this whole production, provided y'all have got September 8th open on your calendars…"

"Whoa! You mean- this year?" Laurie said. "Seriously, this year? 2007?"

"Yep," Christine replied. "That's when I have a break in my tour schedule, and he thinks he can pull it all together by then."

"I don't see why not," Spencer said. "What can possibly be so difficult?"

Morgan shook his head and laughed. "Hey man, I may not be as smart as you, but even I know you can't pull a formal wedding together in three months- not even with Garcia helping you!"

"Oh, about that," Spencer said, "Garcia, I was thinking of asking-"

"Of asking me to be your wedding coordinator? Weeeeee!" she squealed, clapping her hands. "Ooooh, this is going to be the most fabulotastic wedding ever! Come here, come here, both of you! I need hugs!"

After Garcia had her way with each of them, the others each had their opportunity to congratulate the couple in turn. Eventually, Spencer managed to pull Morgan aside for a private for a private word. "Derek, I wanted to ask you…I mean, if it's not too much trouble, I'd appreciate…you know, I know we're just coworkers and all, but I also consider you a friend- probably my best friend, and…well, would you do me the honor of being my best man?"

Morgan took a sip of his beer and looked at him for a moment and smiled. "Kid, I always assumed I would be. And believe me when I tell you- the honor would be all mine. All mine." When Spencer extended his hand, Morgan said, "Nah, man. Not now. That's not good enough now. C'mere," and embraced him tightly. "Besides, I grew up with two sisters. It's great knowing what it finally feels like to have a little brother, too."

* * *

Later that night, after their guests had all left and the mess had been cleared away, Christine sat upstairs combing her hair when she heard a whirring sound coming through the open window. After peeping outside, she threw off her robe, put on her bikini and ran downstairs and out to the hot tub. "Hey there," she said, stepping in beside Spencer, "wasn't it you who once told me that hot tubs were pestilential incubatory broth for every vile microbe dangerous to man?"

"No," he replied, looking up with a smile, "I said they we _detrimental_ to man, not dangerous, but you understood my general opinion. I did check the chlorine level before I got in, though, so I felt safe it was relatively clean. Besides, I've found I quite like warm water." He put his arms around her as she leaned back against him and kissed her neck. "Everyone seemed pleasantly surprised at our news…"

Christine sighed. "Yeah, they did, didn't they?"

After a prolonged silence, he asked, "Is something wrong? You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"Second thoughts? No. Not second thoughts…"

"What is it, then? You seem…lost in thought all of a sudden…"

"I guess I'm wondering why _you're_ not having second thoughts."

"Me?" he asked incredulously. "Dear, I've known from our first kiss that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I've been sure of this for a long time. And on that note," he said, reaching up under the towel he'd laid to the side, "I wanted to give you this. After my grandmother died, my grandfather gave me this ring, saying, 'Spencer, there are 41 years of happy memories wrapped up in this ring. I hope that someday it'll find it's way onto the finger of a girl who will help you make your own memories.' It's not a big ring, but I know you don't care about things like that, anyway. Will you wear it for me, and help me add to those memories?"

Christine held her hand out and merely nodded, unable to speak; tears started down her cheeks as he slipped the ring on it and kissed her hand. "It's perfect," she finally whispered and laid her head back on his shoulder. After a few more quiet moments she said, "I really don't think you have any clue what you've just gotten yourself into…"

"Oh, I believe I do. I think the last two years I've spent with the craziest person I've ever known has been ample preparation for planning a wedding…"

"I'm not talking about that. A wedding is nothing. It's one day out of the rest of our entire lives. I'm talking about that rest of our entire lives part. Doesn't that scare you? I mean, I'm crazy, my life is crazy, your life is crazy- don't you think that's too much crazy?"

"Hey, don't you remember? I do crazy for a living! Adding your crazy to my crazy really isn't that big of a deal, dear," he said smiling.

She turned around to face him and put her arms around his neck with a grin. "Then you need to get a refund on your tuition, Sparky, because there's something they failed to explain to you when you got your math degree: you don't add crazy. You multiply it!"

"Then so be it," he said, pulling her closer to him. "I've also told you that to me, your kind of crazy can be beautiful."

 **The End**

* * *

A/N

That's the end of Crazy Can Be Beautiful, dear readers! I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. And for those of you who _really_ enjoy this kind of crazy, be sure to follow me as an author- there _will_ be a volume 2, and the first chapter will be arriving shortly.

Thank you for reading, and thank you especially for all your feedback. I cannot adequately express how much it has meant to me, so I'll simply say one more time…

…thank you.


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